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xwing-baby · 3 years

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Impulse: Part 2 (Javier Peña x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Pena as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: ANGST!!! Explicit drug and alcohol abuse from the beginning, depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing, major character death, blood, smoking, gun violence, show level violence

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: The response to the first part of this has been fucking insane! I was not expecting you guys to like it so much, so thanks a lot! Like I said before THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY BUT NOT THE END OF THE SERIES.

Part 1

Sleep never found you. You drank the bottle of wine Connie gave you without a glass, letting the alcohol wash away your anxieties as you stared out the window to the city surrounding you. You had dreamed of coming here since the idea was first put forward to you. You had the chance to capture Escobar! Ideas of chasing him through the city being the one to catch him, finally stop the war and be a hero had flooded your imagination. You knew that was never going to happen now, not only because the true scale of the horror here was much larger than just one man, but because you were going home.

It was the only logical solution. The only one that didn’t result in your death, at least. If you stayed it was almost certain to be a death sentence, by your hand or at the hand of someone else. If you stayed you would die. If you went home, maybe someone could help. As much as it pained you, it was the only plan that made sense.

Still a little drunk, you called the ambassador’s office leaving a message on the answerphone for the secretary to find when she got into work. There was no going back now.

You showered, changed your clothes from the day before into new clean ones. You spent a little extra time on your hair, singing along to the radio while you attempted to fix the birds nest on top of your head. You looked tired, not just your skin- it was like your soul had been tainted now. You forced a smile, practising in the mirror. You were not convincing even yourself; your eyes were red and sunken from lack of sleep; your nose was red from the constant scratching and your eyes had no light. You looked as rough as you felt, cravings were starting again you felt like your whole body was on fire, itching from the inside out. As the effects of alcohol wore off, the need for a replacement was heightened.

Still wanting to avoid Javier, you knocked on Steve’s apartment and he took you to work. When you arrived, Javier was already at his desk. As if nothing was wrong, he slipped a packet of cigarettes over to you as had become your tradition. You never brought cigarettes here, it just became a habit that the two of you shared. You took one, lit it with your Zippo and took your first nicotine hit of the morning. Javi claimed he let you share because he was trying to cut down, you doubted that. It was a peace offering today.

From then on you could almost forget anything had happened the day before. The three of you got on with your usual day's tasks. A cigarette never left your lips all morning. It wasn’t what you wanted but the nicotine was doing well at curbing your cravings. Javier and Steve were in and out all morning while you did the paperwork that they didn’t have time for. The mundanity of it was exactly what you had needed.

Lost in concentration as you struggled to read Carrillo’s terrible handwriting for his part of your case report, you didn’t hear the phone ring. Being closest, Steve answered the call, said something you didn’t hear and held the handset out in your direction. You looked up. You never got calls.

“It’s for you,” Steve passed the phone to you, a suspicious look on his face.

You took it and placed the receiver between your head and shoulder while you looked for a paper you’d been looking for. You nearly dropped it when the receptionist on the other side told you she had got you a meeting in the hour. You hadn’t expected it so soon! You hadn’t practised what to say! You thanked her and hung up, quickly standing up to collect your things.

“Hey, hold up Rookie where are you going?” Steve called after you. Javier looked up from his work, equally as confused.

“Out,” you called back, already through the doors. You didn’t see the look of concern the two men shared when you left the room.

It felt strange driving somewhere on your own. You always had Javier, Steve, or Connie. You could count the number of times on one hand that you’d driven yourself somewhere. But you needed to do this alone. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do one thing right completely alone.

You were scared, terrified of what was going to happen. Your palms were so sweaty you could hardly grip the wheel. Each intersection you were tempted to turn around and go back, pretend nothing had happened. The idea of giving in one last time filled your mind, you became so distracted you didn’t notice the traffic in front of you and nearly rear-ended a taxi in front of you. The annoyed driver flipped you off out the window. The near miss brought you back to reality, you took a deep breath and shook your head of all the thoughts. You could survive without it.

On the walk through the embassy, you passed the place Javi had pushed you against the wall, where you’d flipped out. A black scuff mark was the only evidence anything had happened, but your memory supplied you with the rest of the details. Hot guilt spread over the back of your neck and you sped up, averting your eyes when you passed the bathroom a little further on. You had let this go too far, but you were fixing it. You were going to be better.

The assistant outside the door beamed at you, offering small talk while you waited for the ambassador to finish his meeting. She mostly asked after Javier. After a few minutes, the ambassador emerged, two well-dressed men walked out with him, and he smiled warmly.

“Y/N, nice to see you again so soon,” You took a deep breath and quickly wiped your sweaty palms on your pants, “Come on in,” He showed you inside and offered you a seat on the couch to the side of the room. You sat down, gladly accepting the drink his assistant offered. The ambassador dismissed her and sat down opposite you, sipping his glass of whiskey. “What can I do for you?”

---

You stepped out of the room and felt lighter and heavier simultaneously. You confessed, told him everything from the beginning when you first met Maria to yesterday’s events. You’d confessed, you were on your way to help but that had come at a cost. You were leaving on Monday; your position was in question and the ambassador had been far from sympathetic. You managed to hold it together inside but as soon as the golden sun hit your face you broke down into tears.

He had been kind in not arresting you, but his words were far from it. Called you a failure, weak, pathetic. A disappointment to the agency and the country. The disgusted look on his face was one you wouldn’t forget, seemingly imprinted on the back of your eyelids flashing with every blink you took. Your nose itched as if automatically knowing what you would do to soothe your pain, body craving the solution to its problem, but you ignored it.

Instead, you got back in the truck and drove. Music cranked way up so you couldn’t hear yourself think, driving until you felt better. You didn’t need the drug; you were stronger than that! You thought you were until you came to Maria’s house. Like a homing pigeon, you had subconsciously driven down her street, despite it being in nearly the opposite direction to your destination. You slowed down and sat outside the building just watching it. Tempting yourself when you know you shouldn’t. You knew she was home; you knew she would have some for a party or just for her personal use! She could help you. She was a great friend. She wasn’t going to judge you.

Before you knew it, you turned the car off and had a hand on the door handle. Your hands were trembling as your body was fighting against itself. You knew how easy it could be, how good it would feel to get just a little taste. Maria would probably have good food too, maybe you could go inside to have lunch. You hadn’t eaten since dawn and your stomach growled. If she happened to have coke it wouldn’t be your fault, you would be being a good guest!

You were about to give in when you spotted Javi’s yellow sunglasses reflecting on the dash and his words from the day before rang in your head. You’re better than this. Your hand let go of the door and you sighed heavily. Even in your head, the asshole was right. If you gave in now, what was the point of everything you had just done in the embassy? If you gave in now you were exactly what the ambassador thought you were; weak and pathetic. If you left now, you were still you. The real you. The one who had fought tooth and nail to get down here. The one who helped people, who saved people. You had proved yourself against people’s preconceptions every day here, you couldn’t give up now. You took your hands back to the wheel, turned the ignition and drove away, tears rolling down your cheeks.

The office was empty when you returned to the compound. Confused for a moment, you looked for a note that was usually left if the boys were called away quickly. There was nothing. You sat down at your desk and wondered. Steve’s jacket was still on the back of his chair, Javier’s tie discarded haphazardly on his desk. They couldn’t have gone far. Then you remembered. You had a strategy meeting with Carrillo which according to the clock on the wall started thirty minutes ago. You cursed aloud and ran to Carrillo’s office.

“Rookie, nice of you to join us,” Carrillo said sarcastically as you slipped through the door into the room.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” You said, taking a seat on a desk across from the men.

“Maybe Peña should make a note of it for your report card,” Carrillo added with a smirk, you frowned.

“I said I’m sorry,” You grumbled, not in the mood for his bitching. You had just had one of the hardest conversations of your life, you didn’t need Carrillo making your mood any worse. You crossed your arms and sulked in the corner. Carrillo always had a way of making your mood sour instantly, you detested him.

Luckily, he gave up quickly and returned to his previous speech. You were barely listening, constantly catching yourself drifting off in thought, until you heard your name.

“Peña and L/n are on stakeout tonight,” Carrillo said. The mention of your name with Peña’s made you snap back to reality quickly.

“Can’t Steve do it?” You asked, interrupting him. The idea of spending any time with Javi felt like a nightmare. You could barely even look at him out of shame and embarrassment let alone spend ten hours with him in a car.

“You’re late and now you want to start questioning my authority?” Carrillo bit back.

“I’m not questioning your authority, sir,” You snarled, “I am saying I- actually no I don’t need to explain myself to any of you. I refuse,”

“Do as you’re fucking told, Rookie,” Javier finally snapped. He had been silent throughout, letting Steve and Carrillo discuss the plan while he smouldered in his seat, watching you instead. You had that faraway look you had in your eye yesterday, red eyes and constantly fiddling with your sleeves, he assumed the worst. He was sick of it.

His sudden outburst made everyone in the room stop. You were shocked, he’d never used that tone on you before. Everyone looked at him, then to you. Your eyes were big and glassy full of tears, mouth dropped a little, staring wildly at Javier. After a moment, you swallowed down whatever back talk had been sat on your tongue and settled down again, looking away from the man and down to the files on the table.

As soon as the meeting was finished you walked out as fast as possible. You were trembling with a mixture of anger and shame; you couldn’t work out if you were going to cry or scream. Both would work. You wanted to hide away and hope that Javier would just leave for the stakeout without you.

“Are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on with you and Javi?” Steve asked from behind you, jogging to catch up with you as you marched down the hallway. You sighed in annoyance, you just wanted to be alone.

“Nothing’s going on,” You grumbled.

“So that in there was nothing?” He pressed. You shrugged and shook your head. Steve scoffed, “You leave all afternoon on your own, you won’t tell anyone where you are going. You come back late, and then try to get out of a shift? Fucks wrong with you?”

“Fuck off, Steve it’s none of your business,” You muttered, sitting down at your desk doing your best to ignore him and start some paperwork. You didn’t look at what you were doing, more just using it to cue him to leave. He didn’t take it.

“You’re part of my team, it is my business,”

“It’s nothing to do with you. It's between me and Peña and it’s none of his business either!” You snapped. You dropped the pile of paper in your hand making it thud and you looked over at him with a hard glare, “Both of you need to back off. I’m not a kid, I can deal wit\`h it by myself. I don’t ask you about the arguments you’ve been having with Connie, do I?” Steve scoffed and shook in disbelief. It was a low blow, but you were angry and hurt. He didn’t deserve it, but you just needed him to leave, “Leave me alone. I’ve got shit to do,”

Steve left in a huff. He brushed past Peña, giving his partner the same glare he’d given you, as he stormed out the office. Javier took one look at you sitting at the desk, and walked the other way, he didn’t want to talk to you either.

Alone in the office, you worked almost to spite the two older agents. You could still be productive despite the incessant devil on your shoulder telling you about the as yet unweighted bags in the evidence locker. You could go get some and you'd be much happier, and nobody would know at all. You ignored it, gritting your teeth, and forcing yourself to focus. You couldn’t steal from the evidence! The words on the page didn’t even look real anymore, your brain so overwhelmed you could hardly make sense of the parts in English let alone Spanish.

Memories of better times crept into your mind, remembering the last time you were here so late. You, Javi, and Steve were the last ones in the building still pacing through the coded list of names you had found through your CI. You were all delirious and someone found a radio at some point, you managed to catch a station playing some American pop music. Prince and Bon Jovi, even some Abba. You danced around the room singing and laughing, dragging an initially reluctant Steve with you. Javier sat and watched, laughing at the two of you making fools of yourself. You were happy then, confident and content.

The warmth of the memory was cut by the ice of the room surrounding you now. There was no laughter, no joy. The two people who meant the most to you hated you now. Where you once felt bravely on the edge of greatness here, you now barely gripped the ledge before you fell to despair. You felt your grip slipping every day that passed.

You sighed, rubbed your hands over your face shaking off the memories and returning to your work. You wondered about food but decided against it, here you were safe from yourself. You couldn’t do anything here without somebody catching you. As well as you hidden your habit you knew you couldn’t try it here, that would be truly insane. You had promised yourself you would stop so you sat and worked alone until Javier reappeared and called you to heel.

No words were spoken on the way out of the compound. You knew the plan already and neither you nor Javier felt like small talk. Javi drove and parked outside a row of houses near the top of Medellin. It was quiet, there was a good view out over the city with all the lights trickling down the hillside to the city centre. You focused on that, turning away from Javier in your seat, to focus on the view.

You dragged your jacket tighter around your chest as the winter air crept into the car. You should have gone home to get a better coat. As mild as it was in the day, up in the hills at night the air was sharp and bit through the thin leather material easily.

The silence in the car was awkward. You could tell Javier wanted to say something, it sat on the tip of his tongue as he flicked from looking at the target and you. Usually, you filled these long tedious times with quiet chatter about something or other that you had read or heard around the office, often teasing Javier over the latest secretary he’d bagged. He often complained about it, protesting that he would rather sit in silence than hear you babbling on, but now there was nothing he would like more.

He wanted to know what was going on in your head. Seeing you so reckless and out of control had scared him. It was his fault he’d not stopped you sooner, not done his job as your mentor properly. He’d only proved himself right by letting you fall like this, that he was never fit for the role in the first place. He had proof of his failings now shivering silently in the seat next to him. Out of everything that he had done, you were his worst failure yet.

Memories of the first stakeout you had been on with Javier came to mind, you remembered how surprisingly fun it was. It was the first time you got to know the man, about a month into your time in Colombia you were still a little awkward around him. Still trying to work out what kind of mentor he was, you had never spent more than half an hour alone with him before. But somehow, you talked all night, got takeout and the time seemed to fly by. Nothing exciting happened but from that moment you two became a lot more comfortable with each other and trust began to form.

You missed being able to have fun with him. You were going to miss Javier, despite the ups and downs of your relationship you admired him and held him with the utmost regard. He was an asshole at times, you butted heads a lot, but he never did anything rash and always had your best interest at heart. You were going to miss him a lot. You wanted to tell him about your decision, but you thought he wouldn’t care, not now. It would be easier for both of you if he never knew.

You looked back at the glowing clock on the dash, barely an hour had passed. It was going to be a long night.

“Where did you go earlier?” Javier finally broke the silence. He wasn’t angry, merely asking. You frowned.

“Why do you care?” You grumbled.

“Answer the question,” He sighed, exasperated by your attitude.

“If you must know, I went to the ambassador’s office,” You said, Javi frowned, it was not the answer he was expecting, “What? Did you think I was going to get high or something?” Javi shrugged. You scoffed. “I do listen to you, you know that?”

“Hard to believe sometimes,” Javi jabbed back. You didn’t have a particularly good track record of doing what you were told, but things always worked out in the end. That was half the reason Javi had left you so long in this mess. He trusted you could get yourself out like always. You scoffed, crossed your arms, and turned away again. The truck fell silent again, Javi took another drag of his cigarette and sighed before speaking again, “What did you talk to the ambassador about?”

You realised he was going to drag it out of you whether you wanted to tell him or not. He couldn’t tell if you were lying, he wanted to believe you- that you had made the right choice by yourself, but he needed to hear it from your mouth. He wanted proof that he hadn’t entirely fucked you up. You took a deep breath before you spoke, facing forward looking out the window so you couldn’t see his reaction.

“I asked to be transferred back to the States, I can’t be here anymore,” Javier looked over at you, his face was almost entirely unreadable. A cigarette smouldered between his fingers, unmoving while he listened to you, “I told him everything, I’m being transferred out on Monday. If I don’t get dropped from the DEA entirely, it’ll be a fucking miracle,” You took a deep breath as tears pricked your eyes, “I let you down. I let you and Steve down, and I am completely in over my head now. I can’t in good conscience stay when I am putting you two in more danger and doing harm to myself. Ever since I got here you have been nothing but helpful. You’re a great mentor and a great friend and-,” You choked on a sob, tears streamed down your face as you confessed to him, “You were right, I wasn’t ready for this, I am fucked,”

“Shit,” Javi cursed under his breath.

“That’s all you're going to say?” You laughed humourlessly. You wiped your eyes and nose with the cuffs of your jacket. That was not the reaction you were expecting from him, “You can tell me you told me so, go ahead I know you want to,”

“We’ve got movement,” He said gesturing to the car that had just pulled up in front of the property you had been watching. Three men got out of the car and walked into the house. Your heart leapt at the thought of this finally being Escobar, that you had caught him when he was least expecting it. There had been rumours he was using this house for a little while, that's what you and Javier were there to investigate.

“Shit,” You echoed Javier’s previous statement, “What do we do?”

“We stay here and watch,” Javier replied sensibly. You knew that was what you should do but the emotion of the day was catching up to you. This could be your last chance and you were going to take it.

“No way, that could be him!” You exclaimed, “I’m not just going to sit here and watch while fucking Escobar passes a hundred feet in front of us!” You sat up in your seat, bent over to tie your shoes ready to go.

“Y/n, no. We don’t know it’s him,” Javier tried to reason but your hand was already on the door, gun ready in the other. You’d made up your mind, too full of frustration and emotion to stop for a minute to think.

“Javi come on! I know you’re sick of this bullshit too! If I’m leaving Monday, I don’t want this to be wasted. Call Carrillo, get some backup, we’ll go now,”

“I said no,” He protested.

“Fine I’ll go by myself, you stay in the truck and keep deniability,” You opened the door and slipped out into the cold Medellin air before Javi could answer. You pulled the gun from your back, loaded it, and crept to the house not once looking back at Javier in the car.

You ran across the road and slipped through the alleyway which separated the house from the rest of the row. Around the back of the building, pressed up the wall, you peered through a window. A small crack in the curtains didn’t let you see much but you could hear at least two voices. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, held your gun tight and moved again, walking along the wall to the first door you could find. It was open.

You crept inside, keeping as quiet as possible. It was dark inside the small porch; you couldn’t see your footing. Your foot met with a glass bottle kicking it across the floor till it clattered against the wall. You winced and stood still, listening out for any sign the occupants had heard you. Sound from a TV still played, you were in the clear for now. You pushed on through the house, carefully pushing open another door which opened into a kitchen.

The warm light hurt your eyes a little, you squinted to adjust. The kitchen was well used, a pile of pans sat dirty in the sink and a pot of half-eaten food sat on the stove. You stopped to think for a second what your plan was. Until that moment you had been so caught up in the fact Escobar could be here, you’d run in without a plan. You were starting to think that wasn’t the best idea. You considered turning back, waiting outside for Javi to join.

You looked up from your spot to see a man had entered the room. Tall, dark curly hair, you instantly recognised him. Diego, Maria’s boyfriend. Your stomach dropped; this was the worst possible thing to happen. He recognised you too, his dropped jaw quickly turned into a smirk as he pulled out his gun and pointed it at you.

“Isabella?” He asked using the name he knew you by. Isabella Rodriguez, you had used the name for months to get into Maria’s group and get intel. “I knew there was something off about you!” He smirked.

“Lower your weapon, now!” You ordered. Your heart hammered in your chest, feeling the absence of a tact vest now. You were completely vulnerable, stood up against Diego’s gun in nothing but a leather jacket. He didn’t move an inch, so you pressed again. “Put it down and I don’t put a bullet in your skull,” You growled, becoming impatient. You were completely stuck; you had no plan at all other than to stall until Javi arrived.

Suddenly a cold press of metal stamped against your back. Your breath hitched at the contact, but you remained as calm, keeping your focus on Diego. Before you could even register it, your legs were swiped out from under you. You fell forward with a thud, your gun sliding across the tile away from you.

You fell hard, hitting your nose on the ground instantly cracking it. It throbbed and blood poured out. You pressed up but were pulled back onto your knees by the hair by the unknown man behind you. You groaned and spat out the blood that had trickled into your mouth. That was when another familiar face appeared in the doorway. The man who haunted your dreams, who’d driven you to this mess in the first place, Pablo Escobar.

He was older than the photo that donned your office wall, fatter, and more tired looking; but his image had been drilled into your brain so much it was unmistakably him. It was almost underwhelming to finally meet him; he was far too human. Far too real. There had been an air of omnipotence that had built up whilst you chased him, always just out of reach. He always knew the next move; he planned every move. But now to be here in front of you, in flesh and blood, you realised he was just that. Flesh and blood.

He sighed when he bent over to pick up your discarded gun. He inspected it in his hand, grimaced then flicked the safety off and pointed it at you. Your heart rattled so fast it made your chest ache. Bottom lip trembling, eyes filling with tears, your eyes locked with his. This was most undoubtedly the end.

The cold metal of the gun’s barrel pressed against your forehead and you screwed your eyes shut, praying for Javi and Carrillo to come through the door and save you. You wished you could apologise for being so brash, and forever causing such a mess. You slowly opened your eyes again to meet with your reaper, tears rolled down your cheeks. His cold dead eyes saw into your very soul. You didn’t need to say anything, he could read your mind.

“You know how we deal with rats, right?”

Javier had called for back up, Carrillo and his a team of men came quickly with Steve in tow. Javier hadn’t explained much of the situation, there wasn’t much too explain yet but Steve was furious.

“Why the fuck didn’t you go with her?” Steve burst from the truck before it stopped moving, barrelling towards Javi.

“She ran off! I had to call you,” Javi exclaimed, backing up away from his partner.

“That’s a fucking first,” He snarled.

The men were saved an argument as the sound of a gunshot disturbed the air, reminding them of the task at hand. The black car parked in front of the house screeched as it sped away, out of the city. The men shot at it but missed. That wasn’t their priority. Headed by Javier, the men ran on into the house through the open front door. They had to find you.

“You go upstairs, I’ll take down,” Javi barked at his partner, who obediently followed the order.

It was clear from the contents of the house, whoever had been here hadn’t been here long. There was barely enough furniture to make it comfortable, what personal items had been left were few and far between. The entire place stank of urine and burnt food. Javi moved through the property quickly, clearing every small room he went.

“Y/n!” Steve called as he searched upstairs. There was nothing upstairs except for a couple of stained mattresses, a disgusting bathroom, and a discarded razor. There was barely a sign that people had been living there let alone any sign of you. Dread was starting to creep up in his stomach as he walked back down the stairs. He hadn’t heard anything from Javier to announce you’d been found. Maybe you were taken in the car they’d failed to stop.

Steve found his partner standing in the kitchen at the back of the house. Javier stood still, his back turned to the entrance. He didn’t move a muscle when Steve entered the room.

“Javi?” Steve prompted when he didn’t move. He came closer and saw what was holding his attention.

You.

Slumped on the floor, knees trapped under your chest, blood poured out of an open wound in your head. Blood covered the tile floor, spilling down channels in the grout. Steve couldn’t look, nearly vomiting as if his body was rejecting the horror that overtook him at the sight. He quickly dragged Javier by the arm, to turn away. Javier lashed out, shoving him off. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, lit up in the dim light of the house. Steve had never seen him cry before.

“Fuck!” He yelled, throwing himself at the dirty couch in front of him. It didn’t move. Unsatisfied, Javi stormed out, shoving past Carrillo and his men who had returned from their search, to get some air. Steve let them through, pointing over at your body.

Grief had settled over him quickly, guilt came second, making Steve’s whole world fuzzy. He was stuck between joining Javi in running for the hills and not wanting to leave your side. He watched on patiently as your body was laid out. One of Carrillo’s men took photos of the scene, Steve almost laughed at the sight. This wasn’t something he was going to need physical reminders of, it would be etched on his memory forever.

Eventually, an ambulance was called, and your body was taken away. Steve followed you out, getting one final look before the doors were closed. People trickled away, Carrillo clapping him on the back in some attempt at comfort, and soon Steve climbed back into his truck completely alone again. Javi’s truck was gone. No doubt burying himself in some poor girl somewhere to burn the anger out.

Steve was angry. Angry at Javi for letting you go alone, angry at himself for not switching with you when you protested. He lashed out, slamming his hands onto the wheel, and letting out a cry of frustration. He wondered if you knew this would happen. There were so many things he didn’t understand about what had happened, and it seemed he was never going to find out now. It was all over.

He drove back to his apartment in complete silence. His anger had cooled, red hot now cold settled in his chest as cold blind rage. Rage at your actions, at Javi’’s, at Escobar and this fucking country. Everything about this place was hell, what had he done to deserve to see someone so young, so promising, die like that. It was not fair.

Steve stumbled into his apartment and was met by Connie making dinner in the kitchen.

“Hey! Everything okay?” She asked innocently. From the kitchen, she couldn’t see her husband collapse on the couch or his slumped over form and how he scraped his hand over his face as if to pull the guilt out of his skin. “Hey next time you see Y/n, could you give her this?” Connie started talking, walking into the room with a sweater in her hand. The mention of your name made Steve’s heart break a little more and tears spilled from his eyes, “She left it here after dinner last week, I keep forgetting-“ Connie entered the room and instantly saw Steve’s anguish. “Baby? What happened?”

“She’s gone,” He croaked out. He didn’t need to stay anymore. He couldn’t. Connie dropped the sweater in shock and stumbled to Steve who instantly wrapped himself around her.

---

Javier, in typical fashion, rang his usual girl and fucked his frustration out. Unusually rough and uncaring, he hoped the excursion would force the overwhelming remorse out. Even when he finished and the girl hobbled out the apartment, clutching his money, the guilt didn’t leave. It only got worse.

He couldn’t remember how long he had stood looking at your body on that floor. The shock was so overwhelming he had just locked onto you as if waiting for you to jump up and say it was a prank. He took a long drag of his cigarette, holding it until it nearly made him choke to enjoy the heady sensation of it. He hadn’t moved from where the girl left him. A bottle of whiskey was within reach and another pack of cigarettes, he could stay there sinking into the couch until it all made sense.

He assumed you had given up. The hope he held at the beginning of the day, seeing you walking into the office smiling and happy had been shattered by the time you returned from your secret visit to the embassy. Of course at the time he was ignorant and had thought the worst of you. Then in the truck you had told the truth. You were trying to fix it the best you could and he never had a chance to say how proud he was of you. It had all been snatched away.

Javi couldn’t get his head around it. Death wasn’t new to him, he’d seen it countless times before, he had seen worse things working with Carrillo, but tonight threw him into a spiral. You had so much promise, so much more to give. It wasn’t fair. He should have intervened sooner, should have taken the time to talk to you the first time you showed up high at his door. Maybe this would never have happened if he had done his job properly. He may as well have shot you himself.

You said you had failed him, but he had failed you in the end. He should never have let you go alone even for a minute. He didn’t even stay to help move your body, he abandoned you for his own comfort. Guilt pressed down on him hard at that fact. He was selfish. He claimed to care about you but had left you dead on a dirty stone floor for someone else to pick up. You didn’t deserve that. He wanted to apologise to you, but that was never going to happen now.

Possibly the worst part was that he knew he had to write up the events that lead to your death. He would have to repeatedly explain it to the DEA, to the ambassador, to anyone that fucking asked him why the hell he let you go in there alone.

He drank more until the glass wasn’t fast enough. He drank straight from the bottle letting it burn his throat. He drank like the answer to the questions surrounding him was stuck to the bottom of the bottle. He wondered if you knew this would happen. Who had shot you? Why? At what point had this become inevitable? Did you know just how much you meant to him?

Eventually, the whiskey swept him up and let him sleep. He would have to wake up for the nightmare to start.

NEXT PART

---

*insert evil laugh* wanna get tagged in the next part? Let me know!!

tag list: @beskar-tano @beskarbabs @buckysbeloved @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @this-cat-is-dea @themidnightsun-12 @wille-zarr @danniburgh @itsaisopodkillmepls @urbankaite2 @whataloadofmalarkey @ahsofka @yeetus-my-feetus @sara-alonso @lesbianlena

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

Text

AMA reread headcanon #2

I’m having further thoughts about Moonshadow assassin capabilities after rereading this ama question, which basically asks, Why didn’t Viren hide Harrow in the dungeon or somewhere, away from the Moonshadow assassins?

The given answer says, “I think hiding him anywhere was never really an option. The Moonshadow assassins would have had ways of locating him and slipping in no matter where he was...”

My initial guess, last fall, was this: since there already seems to be some kind of internal life-force sensor that Moonshadows can use--the way Lujanne simply touches Zym’s egg and determines that his life is fading--perhaps that skill can be honed and shifted from merely sensing all life around you in a beautiful symphony, to seeking one life force in particular, no matter where it is, for the purposes of hunting it down and taking it. A sort of Moonshadow Cerebro, if you will, which probably takes a lot of practice to achieve, and maybe a lot of focus to hold onto during a mission. Perhaps this is what Runaan was meditating on, the morning of the full moon: Harrow’s and Ezran’s life forces, pinging softly in the distance, somewhere in the castle.

Yeah, creepy and dark, turning a Moonshadow connection to life into a tracking skill for death. *shudders* I love it.

But yesterday, I was staring at this line and wondering whether there was more. See, it’s one thing to sense your target no matter where they are. But it’s another to do that slipping-in thing that the creators mentioned.

Viren says in S1E2 that Moonshadow assassins can “penetrate any defense.” Any at all? How would that work if you put Harrow behind a slew of locked doors? Magical barriers? Defensive monsters? All of the above at once?

One of the other AMA answers, paraphrased on reddit, got me thinking:

"Moonshadow elves partially slip into a dimension of the moon granting them full stealth mode."

If a partial shift into the dimension of the moon grants invisibility yet leaves them present this dimension, what would a full shift grant?

Here’s my guess, then, for a second layer of Moonshadow assassin skills that can be put to use on a mission: an accomplished and practiced assassin can focus their life force during a full moon and project themselves fully into the dimension of the moon--the world that Rayla visited in TTM. Doing so is basically dying, and they have to be perfectly poised and precise in order to come back into the real world exactly where they mean to--and not inside a wall or something--within a probably-short time limit like the 7 minutes it takes your brain to die if you lose access to oxygen or something. It’s a very risky move! But if anyone is going to push themselves to the limit of death--and beyond--to accomplish a mission, it’s a Moonshadow assassin.

The implications of such a skill are fabulous. Only the best assassins can probably do this, and they'll probably need a completely full moon to do it. But the effect would be terrifying. There you sit, surrounded by three dozen guards, behind eight magical wards, where not even a stray spider can sneak in, and suddenly there's a whisper of movement right behind you, and then you're dead. And not one of your guards sees a damn thing. They’d panic and bolt, and the word would get out: Moonshadow assassins are unstoppable.

The key here is what Viren believes the assassins are capable of. He knows better than to try to hide Harrow. His only suggestion was to try to mislead the assassins with a soul switcheroo, which could call back to the idea of Moonshadows being able to track a single life force. Whether Viren expected their tracking to follow Harrow’s body instead of his soul, or simply to be confused by two separate sources, I couldn’t say. But his soulfang solution seems like the TDP equivalent of trying to hide your heat signature from infrared scanners by hopping into a hot tub with a breathing straw.

So here I am with this really cool headcanon about a powerful and frankly dangerous Moonshadow ability, and I ask myself, Self, what kind of cool thing could this ability be used for?

I’m so predictable. You know where I’m headed, right?

I am super invested in Runaan's story arc, and in his character development. I'm eagerly awaiting S4 to see what happens next! We all want our favorite broody assassin set free so he can go be dramatic and stabby and also soft with his husband. It's basically a universal headcanon at this point that Runaan will be freed from his coin at some point, in some way.

You know which version of “Free Runaan” I'm not sure I've ever seen? Runaan rescuing himself. Considering his thematic elements and his coding, that's actually a really important idea. People in trauma aren't helpless damsels out of a fairy tale. They're people. And they deserve agency just like everyone else.

Within the plot of TDP, such a concept would need to be folded in with everything else that’s going on, though. Rayla still has to find her truth, and to deal with her motivations and choices. She deserves agency, too, as does Ethari, Callum, Claudia, Viren, Aaravos, Nyx, and anyone who might get included in the coin storyline.

It would be great to see Runaan use a Moonshadow dimension-slip to escape his coin to somewhere else. Where would he go? Well, there are a few possibilities, but “the real world” probably shouldn’t be one of them. If he can get out of hell on his own, and then need some guidance getting back to the real world--and to his family--from there, that lets multiple characters decide if and how much to lend a hand.

Trauma lies. It tells you that you’re alone, the only one who feels so horrible. But that’s not true. It’s never true. So the more characters who contribute to Runaan’s freedom, the better. Especially since it’ll be really good for him to experience, considering he’s spent his life holding everyone at arm’s length. It’ll be a good message of cooperation, and of forgiveness, and those are some of TDP’s strongest themes.

But so is agency! Having a voice, having a say in your own fate. I’m not sure how much of a say Runaan has really had in his own fate. That’s some information I’m also eagerly awaiting! Seeing him get to participate, even a little, in his own rescue from the hellcoin would be amazing, and maybe it could happen with a cool, scary, dramatic Moonshadow power like being able to walk in the land of the dead for a few minutes or something.

Runaan’s a badass, okay, show it to me, give. But also, just imagine some wild twist like Rayla struggling for most of S4 to find him and her parents, fighting, making allies, learning secrets, doing stealth stuff, figuring out who to trust, all building up an absolutely stellar arc for her, and at last she somehow gets that coin pouch, and she dumps it out, and while she’s so relieved to finally have found her parents again... Runaan’s coin is blank. Dun Dun DUNNNNNN, cue the credits!

#tdp speculation #tdp theory #tdp meta #runaan #moonshadow elves #moonshadow assassins #tdp #tdp ama #tw trauma #haha but what clues would be in the credits sketches then #the animal doctor listening to the coin with a stethoscope #zym biting it #ethari holding like seven tools at once and wearing goggles as he studies it #janai using her sunforge blade on it while amaya gazes admiringly #claudia suddenly hearing a commotion inside her own belt pouch #help me i gotta stop thinking it's too much fun

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melanielocke · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 33

AO3

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @alastair-appreciation-month

Previous Chapter: Chapter 32

Next Chapter: Chapter 34

Alastair used his dagger to mark trees that stood out enough they’d draw his attention. How he’d woken up here with his dagger still on him, he wasn’t sure, but it was convenient. The forest looked the same everywhere and he couldn’t rely on his memory when he couldn’t tell the difference between the different paths he’d taken. He needed some things to narrow it down, which was why he’d started carving letters into trees. He’d remember enough to know where he was when he encountered one he’d previously carved, and he worked in alphabetical order. Even with his memory, he still ended up going in circles a couple of time, but at least he remembered which letters were part of that circle. When he ran out of alphabet letters, he continued with the Persian alphabet. After that, he figured numbers would do the job.

He didn’t know how much time he had left, nor did he know where Thomas was. There were very few buildings in the realm of the thief, but the scenery did change. The woods weren’t the same everywhere, although it all had the same air of darkness. Some places the woods were like he remembered from Devon, maple trees overgrown with moss. Others reminded him of the Hyrcanian forests in northern Iran his cousin Soraya had sent him pictures off. He’d started emailing with her about a year ago, but hadn’t met her yet in real life. He guessed now he never would.

He asked souls for help occasionally. Most of them could speak, but none had seen Thomas. Someone as tall and muscular as he was tended to draw attention, so Alastair assumed it was unlikely someone had seen him but did not recall. He had to be here somewhere. Someone ought to have seen him, right?

A soul of a white woman walked over to him. It was one he hadn’t seen before. She looked like she was from the Regency period. She wore a creamy white long gown with an empire waist and puffy sleeves. Alastair liked historic fashion, although he was by no means an expert, and could usually recognize the time period when it came to European fashion. Lately he’d started looking into historical Persian fashion as well. There were people from all over the world in here, although he was under the impression the majority was white. Perhaps that was a regional thing, because this part of the realm was layered over western Europe. Or perhaps the people making deals with the thief were mostly white, European people, who tended to sacrifice other white people due to proximity.

‘You’re Alastair Carstairs,’ she said.

Alastair frowned, why would someone he had not met approach him here? ‘The thief sent you,’ he concluded.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I was commanded to find you by a girl. I don’t know… She wants me to bring you to her.’

Alastair took a step back. Could he trust her? This was exactly the kind of trick he expected from the thief, to lead him to the wrong place so he would not find Thomas in time. ‘Who is she?’

‘I don’t know,’ the woman said. ‘She told me to find a man named Alastair Carstairs and I found you.’

‘But how do you know who I am?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know, I just do. I know you’re the one she’s looking for.’

‘What did she look like?’

The woman tilted her head. She was wearing a creamy white bonnet that matched her dress. Not something Alastair liked exactly, although he loved men’s hats of the time period she was from. He loved historical gentlemen’s hats in general, and it was a real shame people had stopped wearing them.

‘She had light brown hair, fair skin. There was another girl with her. And a young man.’

‘Did the other girl have red hair and brown skin like mine?’ Alastair demanded.

‘Yes. She had a sword. And the boy was very tall.’

Alastair nodded. It could still be a trick, of course, but it was worth checking out. ‘Take me to them.’

Alastair followed the ghost. He wondered who she was, and how she’d ended up here. She must have been here for a very long time, still wearing the clothes she’d died in. Alastair recognized dress styles even older. A woman in a dress that looked mid eighteenth century, Elizabethan fashion even. Medieval and renaissance clothes, although he didn’t spot a lot of those.

He still made sure to mark the trees when he followed, using numbers now. The regency woman’s soul was clearly annoyed when he had to stop so often, but he suspected Lucie would want to know the way to the thief. He couldn’t afford to get lost in the shadows.

Lucie, Cordelia and Thomas were walking through a part of the woods that resembled how he pictured Scandinavian forests. Lots of pine trees, rocks like in Frozen.

The woman he was following addressed Lucie. ‘I have found Alastair Carstairs, milady,’ she said before turning around and returning to… wandering around aimlessly? Her stare went blank, and she went in a circle, as if her soul had just left her. Lucie must have woken her up somehow.

‘Alastair!’ Cordelia yelled at him. ‘Why would you do such a thing? What is wrong with you?’

‘I’m sorry, Layla. I thought you were dead. Thomas was dying. I had to do what it took to save him and I knew this was the only way.’

‘I never asked you to die for me,’ Thomas said softly.

Alastair took his hand. ‘I know, eshgham,’ he said. ‘But there was no other way. Now that Lucie and Cordelia are here, we still have a chance. But if I have to die so you can survive, that’s alright. It’s for the best.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Thomas said, almost angry. ‘I do not want this, I do not want you to sacrifice yourself for me. Have you considered how that would make me feel, to know I live because you died?’

‘I know it would be difficult. But in time, you would have realized I was never that special or interesting. You would have realized you could find someone else, and be happy. I do not think I could have done such a thing.’

‘Why, Alastair. Why do you not think your life is worth saving? Why do you think dying for me is a reasonable solution to this problem?’

Alastair couldn’t even begin to explain. Thomas did not understand, he did not see…. Alastair was too broken. He was doing the best he could with the pieces, but one day he would no longer be able to go on. He could not change, he could not be what Thomas needed. Thomas’ life was worth far more than his and so Alastair had made the only rational decision.

‘There’s no time to have this discussion, not if you want to kill the thief before my bargain ends,’ Alastair said.

‘We can’t find him,’ Lucie said. ‘We went to his castle, he isn’t there.’

‘He has another. A prettier one, classical style. If he didn’t leave, he’s still there now. I can show you the way.’

***

Cordelia followed Alastair through the woods. There were letters and numbers carved into trees every now and then. The farsi letters indicated Alastair had done that on his way here. He could navigate back easily. Cordelia wished she could talk to him, but he was right, there was no time and Alastair closed himself off from the rest of them. His face was blank and he showed the directions matter of factly. He was just like he’d been the past years, before Cordelia had learnt about their father and about Charles, never showing so much as a hint of emotion. Back then, she’d though he simply felt too good for her, or was, as her father had described it, going through a very turbulent adolescence.

Now she knew that wasn’t true at all, and she felt like she was losing him again. Even if they won. Even if he survived. He claimed he was sorry for leaving her, he’d believed she was dead. Cordelia suspected this had been his backup plan in case they failed at stopping Tatiana, something he had not shared with any of them. He could claim there was no one available to discuss his plan with at the time. Cordelia believed he’d had this plan since before they left, and had kept it a secret because he knew anyone else would try to stop him.

It felt like a punch in the gut. She’d thought that after years of silence, she finally got her brother back, but perhaps she hadn’t known him as well as she believed.

‘We’re almost there,’ Alastair said quietly. ‘Do you have a plan?’

‘We didn’t have much time to plan,’ Cordelia admitted. ‘Lucie will use her power against his in an attempt to neutralize him, which will ask a lot of her power, and that should give me the window to attack. Perhaps it’s better if you wait outside.’

‘No,’ Alastair said. ‘I have my dagger, I can help you. Besides, it’s only my soul that’s here. I don’t think I can sustain real damage.’

‘He might be able to control you though,’ Lucie said. ‘You and Thomas.’

‘Then you command me to fight him, Lucie,’ Alastair said. ‘I don’t think what I am now differs so much from a ghost. No doubt he can do it too, but with conflicting commands I hope that leaves me on your side.’

Cordelia wasn’t too sure about this, but she guessed he could help. They’d trained together, she’d want him to fight with her. She was just scared, but perhaps he was right, perhaps his soul couldn’t sustain harm. Of course, it was also possible any harm would make his heart stop beating. None of them had any idea what effect Alastair’s choice had on his body.

Cordelia was lost in thought and following her brother when Thomas suddenly grabbed her shoulder. She stopped, turned around. Alastair stopped too.

‘Watch where you’re going,’ Thomas said gently.

Cordelia looked in front of her. Nothing out of the ordinary. What was Thomas seeing? Her sight of the supernatural was not a gift she was born with, but after training with Risa for years she was decent. Right now, she saw nothing.

‘There’s a swamp there,’ Thomas explained. ‘Water, mud, with some clumsy bridges over it. Alastair picked the bridge so I thought you could see it, but then you almost stepped into the swamp. Could be dangerous, even deadly.’

Cordelia squinted, tried to picture the swamp Thomas described. Nothing.

‘I can’t see it,’ Lucie said. ‘But I can feel his magic. I think I could unravel the illusion, but I’d planned to conserve energy.’

‘This swamp wasn’t there when I exited the castle,’ Alastair said, ‘and I’m fairly certain I took this route. He changes the lay out of the world then, and uses an illusion to lure us into the swamp. Thomas can see where we can walk, as long as we follow into his footsteps we should be fine.’

Cordelia would prefer to see where she was stepping, but had to admit Alastair and Lucie were right. Lucie should save her energy for the real fight, so Cordelia did the best she could to follow into Thomas’ footsteps. She got her feet wet from a couple of mistakes, but so far could pull her feet back in time before it sunk in. Lucie had almost fallen all the way into the swamp, but Alastair had caught her in time, and Thomas had guided their steps so they’d stand somewhere safe for a while. At least she could feel the water when she stepped in it. Her shoes and socks were soaked by now, but that wouldn’t kill her, at least not in the short run. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what sort of infection she could get from the dirty water.

‘You’re going to have to jump,’ Thomas said. ‘There’s a bit missing in the bridge here.’

‘Can you mark the edge?’ Alastair asked, handing Thomas his dagger.

Cordelia wasn’t sure how he’d brought a dagger in here with his soul, but was glad for the backup. Thomas carved a line into the ground, then jumped over and carved another line at the edge. It was a doable distance, Cordelia could jump farther. She wasn’t so sure Lucie could though.

Alastair went first, jumping over and taking Thomas’ hand to find balance. Thomas avoided his gaze, Cordelia suspected he was very upset about what Alastair had done, and with good reason. She hoped they could talk it out once they were all back. She hoped she could do the same.

Cordelia went next, she didn’t need help to find balance, she could feel where she could best place her feet.

‘Catch me if I fall!’ Lucie yelled at them before jumping herself.

Cordelia’s estimation that she might not make it had been correct, she fell backward and Cordelia caught her hand just in time, pulling her back and into Cordelia’s arms.

‘Thanks, Daisy, I knew I could count on you,’ Lucie said. ‘Thomas, please tell me we’re almost there.’

‘I think I can see the palace. Just a little while farther.’

‘I don’t see anything, but I trust you,’ Cordelia said.

‘Guess he made that disappear too,’ Alastair said. ‘But I’m not stupid, I know where it was.’

‘It’s still there, don’t worry,’ Thomas said. ‘And if he made it invisible, he’s trying to keep us away. That means he’s scared, doesn’t it?’

Had the thief not counted on Thomas’ sight? He must have known about that gift, right? And Alastair’s memory? But perhaps the thief had only counted on her and Lucie as potential enemies, since Thomas and Alastair were currently his souls. Was she missing something?

‘He should be,’ Alastair said. ‘I think he believes I work for him now. Said I should fail my task, and then I could stay here with Thomas forever.’

Thomas made a face. ‘That sounds dreary.’

‘It does, and I never would have done that,’ Alastair promised. ‘Even if he said I could be his prince or whatever and live in the castle. But I think that’s why he’s not expecting me. He offered me power, and he said Thomas could be there with me if I failed to save him. He must have thought I would fall for that.’

Thomas looked away again. ‘I am starting to remember. You three, you all spark memories of who I am. Who I was. It’s… difficult, to remember the past time. So much has happened. But I remember now.’

‘That’s right,’ Alastair said. ‘It’s been a turbulent couple of weeks. But it wasn’t all bad.’

He put his hand on Thomas’ upper arm as if he was trying it out, to see if Thomas still accepted his touch. Thomas didn’t reject him, which she guessed was something, but he didn’t respond to Alastair’s touch either.

Thomas sighed. ‘No it wasn’t.’

They followed in Thomas’ footsteps for a little longer until he said they were back on dry ground. It all looked the same to Cordelia, odd how it could be so well hidden. It felt different underneath her feet though, and she instantly felt safer.

‘We’re almost at the castle,’ Thomas said.

‘Here’s my B mark,’ Alastair added. ‘I remember it’s here even if I can’t see. I never realized your sight ability helped you see through illusions.’

‘Me neither,’ Thomas admitted. ‘But I think the invisibility of supernatural creatures is an illusion itself, something I’ve always seen through. Odd you can’t, since you can usually see when you know what to look for.’

‘I’ve seen the palace and I know it’s here, but I’m not seeing anything right now.’

‘Watch out, there’s a-,’ Thomas began.

Alastair bumped into something, rubbing his head painfully. His nose looked weird, had he broken it?

‘Wall,’ Thomas finished. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Sort of. I’m fine.’

Alastair glowed a little, and then his nose looked normal again. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he said.

‘What happened?’ Thomas asked.

‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Do you think breaking my nose here also breaks my real nose? Perhaps Kamala fixed it.’

Cordelia imagined that could have happened. ‘If this is a wall, then where is the entrance?’

‘Right here,’ Thomas said.

‘You didn’t remember that, Alastair?’ Cordelia asked innocently.

‘Oh shut up,’ Alastair said before following Thomas through the entrance.

Cordelia went last, and when she passed what Thomas had marked as the entrance the illusion unraveled before her eyes. The palace was mostly white with blues and gold, built in Roman style, encircled by an equally white wall.

‘Ah, I recognize this,’ Alastair said. ‘He could still be in the hall where he brought me.’

‘I can feel him,’ Lucie said quietly. ‘I think he feels me too.’

#Alastair Carstairs #Cordelia Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Lucie Herondale #Thomastair #Lucelia #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction

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cinearia · 3 years

Text

The way the flowers remind me of you

Summary: Emerie values her work with your store in a world where it was not expected of someone like her. That routine is different, varying from her work, to her reading, and her time with her friends, that the time she spends with Nesta has become something common when she gets a new friend.

Except that the things she feels when it's just her and Nesta is not exactly what someone think for a "friend"

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Packing new merchandise became easier when Emerie shop started to have more customers. When unloading and organizing everything on her own started to pay off after receiving the profit from sales. It was a lot of work for one, but it was how worked with her for a long time.

She would swear with her soul, most of the time requiring more mental than physical strength to complete the task completely, in which it seemed more advantageous to drop everything. She had no friends and money to risk getting into debt. Whatever had to do, Emerie had to do alone. In the first few days there she noticed the looks she got when people heard that she claimed her father's store.

The loading gave her physical strength, at least. And the little time Cassian stayed to train taught her the damage it could do if she wanted to hurt someone and turn most manual jobs less suffering.

Your primary purpose, however, was defense, to make time to run while immobilizing. Emerie refused to put her hands up to hurt someone in vain, even if he is a filthy drunk man. Like being proud of a wound she caused, things that her father and uncle often did. Emerie has always chosen to find another solution that does not necessarily come from violence.

What could come up with after leaving a black eye on someone, she didn't want to know. She had no interest in being in a leather uniform that looked more like a second layer of skin than a suit for battle. Calling herself a warrior seemed so distant from what she saw herself, although it was fun to be with her friends.

Curious, being in that store is where was she find more comforting than holding a sword. Even if at any moment she is threatened to lose it. At this point, the chance went to zero. Training with those two warriors at Rhysand court served a purpose. How long had Bellius not come? How much profit has started coming into the store in the past few weeks?

It was enough for her to say that the whole fight was worth it. That not even the title of warrior could take away. Only Emerie knows how she felt.

For how long did you have to do all the calculations by herself? Pack and tidy each showcase, listening to one of your cousins who was not grumbling that a certain part was wrong, that other needed to be fixed, there were two more boxes to be opened. Look at the splinters on your fingers, cousin. Careful with the nails. He never bothered to take them out - he was a woodcutter once, he knew how those things hurt. Her aunt, who once had some of her dresses sewn and intended to order her wedding dress, asked about Emerie ingrown toenails, ignoring the bandaged fingers and purple stains.

Most of the store that has been redecorated, except the glass and the walls, was by her. Emerie was proud to say that she did it. But anguish came from nowhere every time someone in her family commented on it. Although they did not know that it was Emerie who did most of the work, it was her who chose what the store would look like.

It wasn't the most perfect place in the world, it had parts peeling off, but it couldn't be that bad.

From Bellius smile, he knew his words hit her.

Once Emerie forgot to mask her dark circles under the eyes with makeup. You are so tired. A luscious tone as a lullaby.

If she shrugs, they can deviate from that subject and say how much shrugging was disrespectful. If you just sigh and say you had more to do, they would say everything they had to say and leave. Emerie could lean over the bed and think, rest on the blanket and resist the urge to slip under the covers and not go out for days. She could reconsider for the thousandth time and accept defeat as a good loser, go somewhere else, build a market stall, or work for another store - if she wasn't spiteful.

Was it wrong not to know how to feel after her father died? How Emerie can be angry if he showed her the store, let her pass the free time as she wanted there. How Emerie is going to feel sad if he doesn't come to her comfort when she begged them to not cut the wings, was in tears with pain, and ignored his gaze at everyone who flew away?

Emerie already noticed pity in his countenance when noticed the change in her movements, the difficulty of getting up, which was already constant before she cut her wings. Emerie case seems more critical. Maybe because she was born that way? Or because she got worse when she lost her ability to fly with much of her motor activity?

Where it had been clear as Illyrian skies when the man of the family was last seen going off to war as she looked… Simply horrible. How she had to beg to go to a specialized doctor, not the one who was there when her clipping happened. Other than the one who'd been at family lunches on weekends longer than Emerie had in her life, but who had always been a good attraction for him and any young woman who came to age of majority.

For one who can tell them that Emerie moves might not change. That being born that way did not make it synonymous of frailty. No one needed to cast a pitying look on her every time they noticed.

Even though it's useless to wait for the look people gave her since that day to stop, they'll still remember how she was before the clipping, how she tried to fight, how she cursed everyone around her, how there was little, very little, chance to the doctor hit her, if your father hadn't.

A relief just to know she wasn't mistaken. That not everything she said was pure female hysteria or post-clipping stress. A good doctor would tell that it wasn't just her high hormones, that breaking out of her comfort zone wasn't running counter to everything she believed. And even if Emerie started to develop that ideia though the years, hearing someone say it aloud was a final sentence that she was not crazy.

There was a feeling growing inside her that many others also had. Emerie wanted to know how they managed it, how they buried and buried for the decades that were left to them. Without wings, but with thousands around her, with a pair who would take her being and soul and cradle all her desires as long as there's something in return.

They came in so many ways, disguised themselves as docile words, in a different skin, so that if you ever realize you've left one walled prison for another, it's too late. And there's a lot to just turn your back on. Can be a baby in the arms, but just the security of a family can provide to a single person. If Emerie was really smart, she would have seen it in time, and maybe, just maybe, she still could fly.

Gwyn heard it from her mouth. Emerie has never heard your voice low before. She let her braid her hair while told where she would go if the store didn't work. One day she could go to the Dawn Court. Gwyn's eyes lit up at the idea.

One day it would take a long time, but it was possible. In addition to the mountains of Illyrian, further south of Prythian, there would be something that interested her that would make her leave that territory. Something she didn't know and didn't allow herself to think about when she grew up. Emerie didn't have a reason, since Illyrians didn't usually leave their homeland, but it was also possible.

Emerie stopped limiting the things she think, she doesn't know when she started to, even when more obligations fell the more she become a woman, but began to fear what was out of those lands. If she can't run a store, what makes her think she could travel to another court?

Gwyn spoke encouraging words. Said that Emerie would pay for her trip to some strange library at the Day Court. That she will pay the presents that Gwyn will bring to the other friends in the library of the priestess. And it would be so rich that it would finance Nesta's trip as well.

The worst was that it seemed like a good idea, but she was never sure what Nesta wanted living there and never asked her where she would like to go. Anywhere but the mountains of Illyrian? She guess, so. But where?

What was the High Lady sister doing in those mountains with a body that definitely didn't look like a warrior? The sister who cut off the head of the King of Hybern, for sure. But why was she there? Why there, if she leaves with the blood boiling all the end of conversation with that general? What did she think when they talked about her High Lord when she corrected them saying that he was not her High Lord? What Emerie could know with those disconnected facts that she can't notice?

Nesta had been visiting for months and Emerie still had no idea. When Gwyn finish her work, she get together with the other women in the library for some kind of stupid game or conversation. Something they do after work and bring Gwyn to meet anothers Nymphs and others storys that she really wanted to hear, wich was great seen her interact with the other woman there. Meanwhile, it was just Nesta and Emerie.

Nesta smiled a lot when it was just them. It fell apart when Emerie smiled back, and thought, and stared, something inside turning off and on again, trying to regain her senses, and looking away quickly.

Emerie learned to notice the first signs in Nesta, as if she saw a side of her that not even her family – her sisters, in fact – knew about. Your presence became frequent, common in that environment. When Nesta went back to home, her scent was there, pervading the chair near the counter.

A scent of lilies, or hydrangeas, Emerie didn't know how to differentiate, floating in the air while she was doing some task.

Just focus on checking some corner of the store until it becomes just a smell of flowers. She opened the back window to run the late-afternoon air, warmer than Illyrian winter wind, dispensing with her friend remnants, and went out to buy her ordered dinner on two corners. Then the cycle begins, following her own routine.

At that time, everyone was already closing their shops, receiving good night from the neighbors, taking her food and making her way back.

Nesta huddled in her room, enjoying reading in an armchair next to the bed, interrupted by Cassian or Azriel call for dinner. If she forced herself to eat as much as she needed, as much as Emerie insisted that she have to do, she soon returned to her reading after splinters exchanged with the general. Maybe given more attention to Cassian, turning a fight into something more, smelling the fight of his skin and a perfumed essence in hers, rubbing the skin on each other like the characters in the books she read. Emerie embraced the cold of the night, smelling of the warm breads in the bag she carried mixing with a flower shop near her store. She was able to smell the lilies and the violets and to distinguish, when leaned, the hydrangeas sprouting from a vase.

And then the cycle started again. Her daydreams disappeared with sleep, as they accompanied Emerie when she tried to dream a dreamless night and Nesta's face disappeared with her consciousness. And would come back the next day. And again. And again. And again. To the point that she didn't remember when it started.

Emerie only sold clothes and utensils, but maybe all this had to be a sign to sell flowers too.

The bell rang just before a person was on the other side of the store. Emerie lifted her body, containing the sound that would come out of her throat with the effort, seeking to balance her body with the wings. Her senses were slow since the cut on the wings, but after so long trying to get used to the different joints, Emerie disguised it.

A book was between Nesta chest and her arms crossed. If she tried to hide, it was a very flawed act to use thin arms, and too late when she took him behind her back.

How does she manage to carry weight with them? Emerie noticed some new body mass. For training with the general, for sure. Over the long sleeves of a blue-violet dress, her skirt came loose from her waist. On the spine a brown corset to adjust the spine. What for, exactly? Did Nessa ever relax her spine?

"I want to give you something"

Emerie met her eyes, looking into hers and at the same time her whole body. Rarely did Emerie dress like the women of the High Court. Nesta can combine the simple and the beautiful at once, nor matters wich one is majority.

Emerie, on the other hand, wore the apron she liked so much, because she was the one who sewed it, and a brown dress. Somehow, Nesta looked at her as if she were the tallest lady of any court.

She shouldn't be excited about that feeling.

"What would it be?" Emerie smirked.

Nesta lifted her chin, level with hers, spine erect and shoulders low. The thin neck stretched as if it were going to detach from the body. Reached out to deposit a small book in the middle of the counter. Emerie fingers almost turned him toward her, if an orange tulip wrapped in two tiny daisies didn't get her attention.

Emerie looked from the flowers to Nesta. Her face was impassive.

"Would it be for me, too?"

Nesta shook her head, anxious or neutral, Emerie couldn't say anymore, but saw her swallow hard before turning to the book. Picked up the flowers by the stem, closely examining a tulip and the daisies adorning around it. Emerie was never a fan of flowers, but the color matched the cover of the book. She read the title out loud.

"I think it suits your taste" Nesta said "It has romance, a little bit of smut, but a lot of mystery. The author balancead between and it was... Really great. It's a special edition. I got it at the bottom of a bookcase when I was polishing the books"

Emerie noticed the lines of folds at the edges of the cover, and, flicking through quickly, some idiot thought it a good idea to fold the pages as a highlighter. The leaves denounced their long years, disagreeing with the polished cover several times and an outdated edition.

"Well, thank you" Emerie thanked her and held up the flowers "And thanks for that too, although I don't know where to put them"

The words came out with her regret.

"Tell me what you think when you finish"

"Did you get it from the library?"

A wave with her head.

"Is that allowed?"

"Gwyn said yes"

"Gwyn say yes to many things"

A smile appeared on her dark salmon-colored lips and a light brush on your cheeks.

"Nobody would notice. It's not like I'm the only one to pick things up without Merril knowing. If you knew what the Priestesses do when they're alone" she winked "It's good to distract them, have a little fun. Gwyn even got along with some of them"

"Good. We're not the only who are going to endure her"

Sometimes, Emerie feared they would think that everything she said was true. Nesta laughed. "Oh, not really" she left her hands on the counter, close to her body.

Emerie felt on the other side. A scent that was definitely hydrangeas rising as she heard a lower voice, soft as a flower, from Nesta "Don't worry"

She stared at her, gray blue eyes glued to hers with unbelievable attention. The way Emerie, she reflected that second, never saw Nesta look at anyone. To a favorite book in her hands? For a suitor? For Cassian?

Has anyone ever looked at Emerie with such interest?

"I wouldn't think of leaving you anytime soon"

Emerie smiled, she couldn't tell from the way Nesta smiled or for the irony.

For the irony, of course.

--------------------------------------

A one-shot of what I would think if it were Nesta x Emerie. Because Nesta deserves more than Cassian does to her (sorry, but I completely dislike Nessian) and Emerie deserved more development.

So, this is just an au that I did very quickly and just to do. I also like their friendship, but I would also like to see them as a couple.

Could it be a crackship? Yes, but I don't regret it yet.

#emerie #nesta archeron #emerie x nesta #one-shot #a little more emerie-centric #cause she deserved more #nesta too #i really hate nessian #anti cassian #anti nessian #and a little anti inner circle but they don't appear #nesta is sapphic

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ambivalent-anarchy · 4 years

Text

Hurts So Bad... (Part 1)

Introduction

Masterlist

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: For the first time, Peter Parker meets someone he has no idea how to save...

Warning: angst(obviously), mentions of suicide, depression, self-harm...

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Depression wasn't this crazy thing everyone made it out to be.

It didn't feel like you were endlessly falling. Or that there was this big secret inside of you that you just couldn't seem to find out.

It didn't feel like this desperate need to rid yourself from the world. You didn't feel like you were some terrible thing that no one should look at.

It didn't feel like wanting to cry every second of every day. Or being so filled up with sadness that you were about to overflow.

Instead, it felt like nothing.

Just that. Nothing. Empty. Listless.

Like a gigantic void that needed filling.

Sure, you smiled from time to time. Sometimes you even laughed. Like a functioning person.

But the second whatever caused you to smile was over, the void began bigger, and all of the things that once filled it quickly went from the top to falling in and disappearing and you were empty once again.

You couldn't pin it down to one exact reason. Sure you could blame your parents, but no matter how problematic they were you knew deep inside that they couldn't have been the soul reason. You could say school was causing your depression, but then again, how many times has that been said before?

The truth was, you didn't know. Maybe you were just... like this.

Your dad always told you there was no reason to be sad, as if you didn't know that.

That was the point, wasn't it? You were empty and you didn't know why and that was the problem but the second you told someone the problem they just told you that there was no reason to be empty and you already knew that and you just wanted to scream out "that's the fucking point."

But you couldn't.

So you didn't.

So eventually you stopped saying anything at all.

Because no one would really listen.

Suicide to you wasn't a need. It was a want.

It was not wanting to live with having to try every day to fill an unfillable void so the only thing you could possibly think of to end it would be ending it...

..And not being able to come up with a legitimate reason to try and stay.

And the self harm was for when the emptiness was just too much to take.

Peter was Spiderman when he met you.

Swinging on his webs, desperate to get home after an empty night of hardly any crime. He dashed over buildings, yawning after every other swing. "I need some sleep," he muttered as he finally reached his street.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe God or the universe wanted to stall you out. Or maybe Peter was just too tired to focus. But for whatever reason, Peter missed his house with one extra swing and hopped onto the apartment building beside his.

That was the one you lived in.

Quickly realizing his mistake, Peter chuckled. "I really need some sleep."

He stood on the edge of the building, preparing to jump to the next, when he heard a window open. Instinctively, he turned his head around to where the noise was coming from.

He watched as a girl climbed out of the open window, onto the fire escape staircase in front of her.

That girl was you.

You sat there, staring into the distance, your face expressionless.

Peter didn't know what kept him there, looking at him, but he did. You looked a little familiar but that was it. For some reason, he felt that he needed to be there. He needed to see you.

The universe needed him to see you lift up your sleeve and stare emotionlessly at the fresh cuts.

What you needed to make sure it was real. That the media said you needed to make sure you weren't faking it. Your shameful, painful grip to reality. Only you saw them though. They were the evidence that you hid.

But that night, Peter saw them. He saw them very clearly. "O-oh my God...," he gasped, unable to look away.

You blew them lightly, trying to ease the pain you felt. Your eyes trailed through each one, touching some and then wincing at the pain.

Peter stood helplessly, until he realized.. He was a superhero. He was supposed to help. He had to do something.

As silently as he could, he climbed down the stairs, closer to you. Where had he seen you before this?

When he was only one floor above you, he froze, as he saw a few tears trailing down your cheeks. He looked at his hands to see himself shaking. No, Spiderman couldn't do that. He was the hero. He couldn't be nervous about helping someone in need. 'Get it together, Pete...'

"A little too late to be out, don’t you think?," he said, deciding to not face the problem head-on.

Your eyes flicked to the side, but your body stayed still. You looked at the stranger with a dull expression. "Hello, Spiderman," you said softly, immediately pulling your sleeve up to cover your cuts. "There are no crimes here, as you can see..."

Quickly deciding against his previous decision, he cleared his throat. "Y'know.. that's a pretty nasty habit." That was all he could scrunch up. It probably wasn't the best thing to say, but he was already at a loss for words.

"Really? I hadn't noticed...," you said, though there wasn't a sarcastic drawl in your voice. It was as if you were in a listless trance.

Tears began to prick at his eyes. "I think-"

"I think you need to go look for crimes," you said, still staring straight ahead.

Peter sighed. "Look, I don't know you very much, but I'm sure someone loves-"

"What are you going to say next, Spiderman?," you asked, your eyes watering. "That suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem? That I'm going to hurt a lot of others while hurting myself?" You turned to look him dead in the eyes. "... that there are others out there that are going through worse?"

Oh how you hated that one.

Peter stared back. There was nothing he could actually say to come back at that. You continued, simply saying, "Thanks sir. But I've heard it all before..." He looked ahead, hopelessly thinking for some way to get ahead of this game. But as if he wasn't when there, you continued to speak.

"And they'd mourn, Spiderman. I'm sure they would.. but mourning ends after awhile." You breathed in. "-And I'm certain.. give it a year tops.. they'll remember me.. but no one still care about me... because I'd be gone."

He went to sit next to you. He didn't know what to say. "Um, do you wanna get some bandages for that?" He never fully looked at your face up close, respecting your privacy.

"I'm fine, thank you," you rushed out, just waiting for this to be over. "Thanks for your concern Spiderman but I- um, I'm fi-," you tried to say before your face scrunched up and tears began to fall. You couldn't stop it. You covered your face with your hands.

At least this was a new thing. At least now you felt something.

Peter jumped into action. He brought his arm over your shoulders. "It's okay," he said. "It's gonna be okay.."

At that, slowly through your tears, you started to smile. But it wasn't a real smile. It was a dark, bitter smile.

'It's gonna be okay' was something that you heard on a daily basis.

This Spiderman guy didn't know what you felt everyday. He hadn't known that you were on that staircase begging for the courage to jump off.

He didn't know that you were beyond help. That no amount of web-slinging, motivational quotes, or super strength would help you, or at least not for very long.

You didn't even hear the rest of the words that he said to you, or maybe he didn't say any. But it didn't matter.

You only knew that after a while, he somehow got you back through your window, into your room.

And that's when Peter realized, you went to his school. That's where he knew you from. When the light finally hit your face, he knew. Someone that he passed by in the halls every day was struggling. Someone needed saving.

And he had no idea.

You woke up that day feeling more tired than usual.

After sitting in your bed for a while, you stood and walked to your bathroom. The first thing you did was look into the mirror.

There were bags under your eyes. Massive bags under your eyes.

'Great.. that's what I get for crying so much last night.'

You washed your face and got dressed for the day. Then you realized.

'The razors..'

You couldn't remember whether or not you'd put them up, or thrown the dirty ones away for that matter.

'God, I'm an idiot.'

So right before school, you practically turned your entire room upside down in search for the box and the dirty razors beside them. You knew they were somewhere.

In the midst of your search, something caught your eye.

One of your sticky notes were on the window. You didn't remember putting a sticky note on the window..

You walked close. On it read:

You're right, miss. There's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said before. But I will say this. I'm involved now. It's my duty to save people in need of saving and that's exactly what I plan to do. I wasn't kidding when I said that it's going to be okay.

Your friend, Spiderman.

You must've read the note over a trillion times before you realized you were late for school.

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Taglist: @eridanuswave, @pastelbunny1501

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker #peter parker imagine #spiderman mcu #spiderman x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman fic #spiderman #hsb #hurts so bad

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404fmdminjung · 4 years

Text

lyrical and composition verification for holo

summary: she plays the dusty keyboard for the first time in years, and comes out of a song that becomes a pseudo-‘fuck you’ to gold star. yet, it’s still something she can’t sing to herself as she doesn’t fully believe the words herself. but she has someone in mind, specifically — @fmdjiah warnings: alcohol tw, and i don’t even know if this is too ‘technical’ to be a composition but w/e going with it wc: 1710

summer in seoul — she can look out the windows, see how the sun kisses the silhouette of buildings that kiss the fronts in muted pinks. somewhere around the world, it’s midnight where the moon shines and invites another drink into warming her body. minjung takes herself to that place, indulgence in drinks that leave her head bobbing through the air — because it’s midnight somewhere.

tonight, she feels a little out of place — the grip of the paintbrush doesn’t feel like home, not inviting as it once was a month ago. she could pin point mistakes to a schedule ablaze with musical promotions that have too many cameras and little cheer. a career that seems to plummet itself to the grave she’s dug. or just maybe, it’s the effect of coaxed beliefs that she swallows — the idea that being alone is something that feels like home. but she knows in reality, home isn’t alone, nor is the idea of solitude where the grapevines of bordeaux the solution to anything other than blurred mistakes and burning lines of regret.

she thinks it’s hapless — lost in the monotony of self-destruction. but she doesn’t bother to trigger a change in one way or another. instead, comes a wave of burgundy stained lips, legs crossed with a blank stare to the buildings that now melt to the baby blue wash of the arising moon. she blinks, displaced thoughts — a tilt in her head, and now the view of a lonely keyboard in a corner sits. and for the first time, the glass slips out of her fragile palms as her feet glide over towards the lonelier looking set of keys.

there’s a notebook on the side, a 500 won pen she’s picked up from the corner bookstore. a memory that precedes the first time she’s ever written for herself — a thought that pulls the edges of her lips into a smirk, or maybe it’s just the effect of the alcohol. but she picks up the pen, spreading open the canvas of blank paper to write down something filter-free, the first pick into her mind.

‘is it really that hard to be alone to be completely still? with people, or by myself i think i’m always lonely.’

it’s funny to think that the words of honesty come to reveal themselves earlier on — the feeling of loneliness masking her, covering her whole. she asks herself this question at three points in the day. the morning when she wakes up in a lonely bed, filled with the slivers of sunlight that peek through her curtain. in the middle, when she’s surrounded by a bustling staff and giddy members — drowning in the chatter that mangles itself into white noise. and the end of the day — when the end ends with the clinks of a bottle against a sole wine glass in the middle of her apartment.

and she believes the only words anyone wants to hear at that point — one day it will stop.

the words press themselves hard against the paper, or perhaps it’s her own will to believe the words now physically represented by the force of the pen on paper. she could tell herself a million and one things, never once to believe or swallow the truth of the statements. an age half of fifty, yet will all the time passed — she can’t necessarily bring herself to face the reflection of the words. so, she continues on with the theme that circles around her mind.

‘isn’t everything supposed to be as easy as you think and say? even sitting in the sun and breathing doesn’t seem to help.’

it strikes an uncanny belief in her head — the ideation that taking in the simple pleasures day to day comes as an easy feat. in theory, the great minds and her heart could tell her, lecture her into believing each day will become easier. yet, nothing ever comes as easy as the simple calculations that words simplify actions to. and she thinks to herself again, that believing the words ‘one day it will stop.’

it’s not love that makes her feel like this, no. it’s not the cracks of past lovers digging their claws deep in unpolished wounds exacerbating every clean cut image. it’s the idea of comparisons, the unnerved inability to satiate the money hungry woes of chart toppers and idealized ‘popularity’ that ranks high in the charts.

it’s the flood of netizens that use their words like weapons, piercing deep into the tracks that engulfed her heart and soul. ‘a flop’ ‘a shit lead vocal.’ — she nods, laughs. howls underneath the images of how many people love to pick and piece apart her name inside the industry.

‘and i’m gonna stop crying, stop feeling, stop thinking about you. i’m gonna stop crying, and start putting myself first.’

she’s never given a second thought of keeping herself first — always on the verge of terror staged destruction wrecking havoc on those around her, leaving her trapped inside the devastation. it’s the need to rub salt on open wounds, make it hurt where it already aches. make it stand on the edge of a walking time bomb. and maybe, it’s the reason why gold star sees her as the standard doormat of a failed science experiment. a toy they hold high over her heads, the rationale for every step they push her towards.

‘her vs. me, me vs. her — what’s important to see who’s better? after i suffered a lot, i’m starting to get it. but i’m too important to myself to sit still and worry. take a look inside without a cover, you’re fine the way you are.’

it sounds cliche to write the words — she doesn’t believe it, no. but she wishes she could. because deep down seo minjung knows who the soul residing in her body is — a fragmented girl, afraid of the world. masking away anyone that approaches in fear that they’ll flee first. comparisons, one after another — one that pinpoints her to nothing. it doesn’t matter to her — it’s shit. the comparisons are shit. there’s nothing that aches more than suffering with the constant bereavement of being a second-hand choice or a second-staged puppet for someone else.

—

it’s a funny image to see herself next to a muted keyboard — a makeshift desk for her words. but as on cue, the striking mirror image of herself juxtaposed into the ink pressed hard against the paper goes too much, and her body flees. retreats to the keys — button pressed on and the low start of the keyboard.

she’s six when she’s introduced to the ivory whites and blacks, centered in the steinway and sons grand piano in her house — the second house in boston. the theory of progression of chords — three in a row, not at the same time. back straight, both feet pressed to the bottom. tiny fingers barely stretched across a sixth, and now she’s twenty five, surpassing an octave and barely reaching a tenth across the keys.

but despite the memories that flood of youthful hourly lessons four times a week, comes the ringing idea of the words that blare from the notepad in the corner of her eyes. if words had melodies, these words might have been a steady legato on the second octave. a chord progression, strictly arpeggio — her old piano teacher would’ve proud that she’d held onto these facts as a keepsake.

she doesn’t want to keep it major because she’s learned that the happiest of classical songs present in major keys — the somber melodies of majority of beethoven and liszt contain themselves in minor. a first few seconds, and the emotional bang hits front and center into the ears.

she hums to herself the first few words of being alone — a longing pull, a drag. a simple chord, not spanning an octave. her favorite chord, an f minor and a progression into d. it sounds lonely, it sounds sad. it sounds like her — she keeps it mezzo-piano, jots that down before the thought slips past. her voice sings the words, a few octaves too low for her range. yet, she forces it through with the gentle lilt of the chord, and then back down to the switch to d minor

it continues, and she drawls the keys to the words that read themselves out from the corner of her eyes. years of an untouched piano, and muscle memory comes back to haunt her — in a good way, this time. automated movements, a pendulum movement of something slow-paced and soft.

but she thinks that the dreary pace of slow stretches of chords become boring for a song about enlightenment, and seo minjung is no little bitch to stay still and complacent. no. she wants the words to hit in the middle just as the realizations barged through her the second they scrawled themselves on paper. the crescendo comes, and she wants it to go full force, loud — ff, she makes note of that. arpeggio no longer cuts it, and her fingers press against the keys — three notes, one time. a solid chord, staccatos released.

she wants to shift it to major, an ode to her ‘fuck you’ song. but the stark contrast from major to minor is an artwork that she leaves to the masterminds of the past.

she keeps it in the minor, two octaves higher — sounds have a tendency to have a ‘coming of age’ thought when it becomes brighter and clearer. but comes the thought to switch from a harmonic interval to a chord, a back-and-forth wobble of uncertainty posing across the keys.

in her mind, she’s mozart inside the familial archways of classical musicians. except, she’s playing a reemergence in an a song she can’t pigeon hole into any niche. it’s not an experimental sound, nor is it anything that she sings herself outside of the privacy of her walls — it’s something still -ing in the process.

—

it’s not a song she wants to wallow in silence or submerge inside the privacy of her notebook. it’s a song she wants sung, blared — even if it doesn’t stem from her feeble voice. she imagines the voice to stem from a gritty voice that can bleed emotion. someone who doesn’t crumble with the words said because she knows if she’d ever sing it, she’d fall to the ground and grace the world with pictures of tear stained eyes and a breach into the facade she’s created.

and she’s aware — she’s a coward. hiding behind someone else’s voice for words she can’t face head-on.

so, the last thing she scribbles down is the one voice that comes to her mind — ‘jiah from bee’. hopes and wishes for the sole voice to be the only voice to sing the song written and crafted from her heart.

#fmdverification #으악→극한직업 #me: i hate having pending verifications to do so i do it asap

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nikolaszdomolki · 3 years

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An Exploration into New Utopias

What Is a Utopia? When we think about a utopia, we generally think of a perfect world. Perfection has many forms, but what’s important to remember is that when we stive for something to be perfect, we believe that the present isn’t good enough. This idea recognises that the present is out dated, unideal, perhaps not desired and is something that could be improved upon. Utopias are set to be in the future and as an evolving species, we associate the future to be better/greater with lots of technological advancements and more powerful tools than we could ever imagine. All utopias are essentially an ecosystem with a certain set of beliefs, ideas and rules which seeks to follow through and disregard all other things.

How May This Occur?

This process, requires us to overcome challenges which can take many forms. One way it could certainly go is through the way of war. This behaviour is a self-centred action with an internal belief that initiating this event, will result in a positive sum gain. It’s rooted in the idea of a Fenix where we must destroy in order to create something even more excellent. This carries along the connotation of greed since you’re unable to settle for what’s already out there and you want all things to be your way. It aims for total domination over all things, resulting in a complete monopoly by a certain group/figure. In a scenario like this, all individuality would eventually be stripped away, both in terms of actions and thinking. There would be no place for change as this dictatorship would make sure that the only things in existence are the ones set up by them, therefore eliminating all potential possibilities.

From an outside perspective this way of living just becomes a mindless unending treadmill that just goes on loop until eternity and beyond. This for us, becomes a pointless way of living but from the inside it becomes the normal paradise. This is a world that’s monopolised by a solo leader that would maintain the social hierarchy system but without all the negativity associated with it. There would still be tiers of living however, it would focus on what content is available to you rather than what isn’t. It could also easily become something regarding race which would tie back to past historical beliefs of the existence of perfect race so it’s not too difficult to imagine as history often repeats itself. This, just like all utopias, is set out to be a modern-day cult eventually where you either obey or get removed. This, in the hope for a better place would just end up eliminating all things great as there wouldn’t be a place for evil.

Another utopia could manifest itself is through the uprise of the people where they take over the authorities and form their own. At first it will be extremely human centric with multiple leaders, however hierarchies will form with a sense of status attached to it and we will just end up in the same place as the previous example. Their initial approach would be vastly different but it will end up in the same place. It originally would start out as a selfless sacrifice that would aim to regulate chaos but it will soon also become a united echo chamber where anything out of the norm will be terminated.

The Moral Dilemma

After coming to these conclusions, a utopia creates a moral dilemma. The problem is that once the implied perfection has manifested itself, suddenly everything loses its meaning and just becomes stagnant. You see, in a perfect world, one would assume that there is no crime, suffering or evil therefore, all “bad” has been eliminated. However, if that’s the case, then no good can exist either since in order for something to be one way, it needs to have a counter way. Therefore, no matter how impeccable life is, it simply loses its meaning and at that point, there’s no reason for existence. This then leads to the conversation of robots and automation.

The human meat sack by nature is vastly imperfect therefore, we could easily be replaced by robots as there’s no room for anything in existence that carries with it a negative connotation. Furthermore, even if we aren’t physically replaced by whatever form automated robots would take, we would certainly become one. Our lives would become automated with clear steps we would follow in order to complete whatever task is set by the social system. Once again, we come to a conclusion where existence becomes a meaningless loop, besides the parameters under which you operate.

What Could a Utopia Be?

Another view of a utopia could simply be that is all just an illusion of existence, and a simple simulation of reality. This idea explores spirituality which is deeply linked with meditation. Meditation is most often used to settle the body and calm the mind, eliminating all distraction. Meditation puts you in this isolated state of mind where you’re full of bliss and everything feels just fine. One may describe this feeling as simply perfect. Through thorough practise of mediation, it is believed to lead to enlightenment which is deeply linked with self-actualisation. When these states are reached, you’re in the most ideal state one could be, feeling like an unstoppable force, full of confidence and without any worry, fear or doubt. This idea points out that a life style or a way of life can become your own utopia, it’s just a case of in cooperating the things you deem perfect in a repeated habitual manner into your way of life.

The practise of mediation, self-actualisation and enlightenment is deeply linked with religion that roots itself in the previous examples just with a different approach to the set of rules. Examples of this already exist in the form of Eden/heaven which are the ultimate paradise. Places as such are all pristine, harmonious, full of piece which promote balance and happiness. It is a dream like state where all things are flawless and immaculate highlighting the purity of the soul and just feels like an impossible state to be in. In a religious paradise like this, the hierarchical system still persists and so does the existence of the cult like behaviour. However, it’s a chosen path by only a subset of individuals who enjoy the actions needed to serve the creator as a collective as an inner passion rather than a forceful expression.

The idea of psychedelics is something to explore in a world of utopias since it relates back to the ideas of a dream, illusion and simulation. The argument here is similar to the ones discussed in with meditation where all these states of minds, come from within whenever were affected by them. When people describe going through psychedelic experiences, they often can’t make sense of it and describe it as the presence of all these abstract and random ideas. The interesting thing about this though is that the mind can only think of things that it knows, meaning if you don’t know something than you don’t have any way to think about it. This then therefore, formulates the point that these experiences are ones we already lived through meaning it (the utopia) has already existed within but we just haven’t been able to unlock them without the use of external substances.

The Downfall Of Utopias

The problem and the reason why the previous examples of complete utopias were so dark is because they were all human centric. Humans are greedy, imperfect creatures that have a huge desire to become greater, and require exponentially more and more to fulfil their inner drive. At elevated levels, people run the risk of becoming corrupt due to the great responsibility that comes with the acquisition of too much power.

“To address current problems and understand how to solve them, we must focus on ideal versions of something helps to help us more clearly define what we think is wrong with what we have.”

A way to tackle this would be to use a non-human centric design. One without humans? Or perhaps altered humans. The problem here though is we then start to debate what it is to be and is if it’s possible that a non-human centric utopia would actually be a utopia? This is because utopias build upon our existing reality and solve problems in a way, we weren’t able to before.

So then, the argument is that if we design a utopia for an altered race than the solutions to their problems that the utopia would come up with wouldn’t necessarily increase the quality of OUR lives. Of course, the future is somewhere where we’re constantly heading in and we will show signs of change but if we design something that isn’t compatible for us than our experience might even decrease as to where it is now.

Finally, the argument then shifts to the fact that perhaps a utopia shouldn’t just be looked at a selfish human centric view and we should then approach it from other perspectives, like reserving our nature and taking care of the planet in a non-human environment.

I somewhat recognise the downfall of my ideologies and how I would be able to design a world where only the things happen that I set out to be however, I like to keep my ideas grounded. Dreaming big and having a discourse around a topic is what drives advancements and change and I’m here to keep this concept approachable and realistic.

How can we form a hopeful utopia that’s concerned with opening doors for solutions to the problems of this world?

First, we have to re consider our definition and boundaries of a utopia. You see, when we solve problems, we create a greater and more efficient way to deal with challenges. The way we solve a problem however, will always change and adapt as our lifestyles and technology advances. Therefore, I propose the idea that instead of trying to focus on total world revolution, we target one specific important aspect of our lives that plays a huge role and effects all of us in our day to day existence. Creating a utopia for a concept then seems a lot more feasible and realistic.

I believe then that the number one way we could approach this is through the concept of efficiency. Efficiency is the ratio of useful work performed versus the total energy or resources used. The higher the useful work output, the more efficient a set thing may be. If we focus our efficiency on the right tasks, then we can become highly effective, at problems to fix. Therefore, I am to promote the ideas of being efficient through preserving nature, venturing off to new planets and having more effective communication.

Highlighting 3 aspects of life that I deem the most important for our future will elevate the human experience, explore the power of our technologies and preserve the environment. This is the future where we will eventually be able to extract the energy of a black hole and enter the state of inter galactical space travel. We will be capable of bending space and time around our transportation devices. At the same time, leaving an even lesser carbon footprint behind than we do in our current day 21st century. Focusing on efficiency results in sustainability where the a by-product is longevity that’s very much desired.

New Utopias - 1/4

#nikolasz domolki #design process #utopias

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somniumoflight · 4 years

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Crossover Idea #8 – Bendy and the Ink Machine/Monsters vs Aliens (Movie)

The Studio’s Inky denizens manage to escape Joey’s control and eventually attract the attention of Area Fifty-Something

Okay, so, this is an idea I’ve had percolating in my head off-and-on for a while now, and my little sister loved it when I recounted it, so it can’t be all bad, right? The main idea for this crossover basically goes like this:

Henry has been stuck in a loop of sorts inside the Studio’s walls for a very long time, being forced to follow the “script” of Joey’s story. However, after going through the studio hundreds of times, Henry finally decides enough is enough, and starts snatching some of Joey’s old notes and books at the beginning of every loop in order to look through them and find a solution to the whole “loop” problem. He eventually finds one: Joey actually kept his old notes from when he was creating the Ink Machine, and among his notes are spells that are being used to help him control the Studio, as well as notes that imply Joey is using the Machine to stay alive. Henry uses these notes to take control of the Ink Machine after several loops, killing Joey in the process, but is turned into an ink version of himself on top of that, and as such can’t exactly return to normal human life without people noticing he’s literally made of ink now. Now that he’s basically stuck here in the Studio for the foreseeable future, Henry decides that if he’s stuck here, he’s at least going to make the place less hellish for everyone, and runs off to do just that.

Fast forward a significant period of time – Henry has been working on fixing up all the people living in the Studio, from the Searchers to the Butcher gangs, to Alice when she emerges from the ink again, to Sammy and Norman and all the other former employees – and even the Ink Demon, to an extent, though not until after several months of the demon still being an enemy and trying to kill him at every turn. The ink people are all doing sort of alright now, but they could be doing better and frankly, the Studio’s a little cramped for all the souls and fragmented souls and warped toons that Joey created in the Ink to be given actual bodies – not to mention there’s just too many bad memories here. However, thanks to some experimenting, Henry and Co. now know that, apart from Henry, they can’t really survive outside the Studio, and as such literally cannot go anywhere.

This is when Area 5? (I can’t believe that’s canonically what the facility/organization is called like damn XD) finally hears reports of ink monsters in the old Studio, thanks to someone who ventured into the studio fleeing in terror after being chased by a territorial Ink Demon, and after some tense encounters they come to an agreement – the Toons will come to Area 5? willingly so long as they are allowed to use the Machine to build a new “Studio” underneath the facility, and have some sort of access to the surface.

Details for this Crossover:

Area 5? isn’t just a prison for the monsters, it’s also a base of sorts – the General will sometimes send the monsters out to deal with other monsters that appear elsewhere in the world, if they’re too dangerous to deal with as a human. The monsters still don’t get out much, though.

After Henry got drafted and left the Studio, he served in the Military for several years, during that time he met General Monger, who was scouting for talented officers who might be able to handle working in the newly formed Area 5?. He ended up working as a “monster handler” aka one of the humans that kept an eye on the monsters in the facility and while out on missions.

He sort of accidentally became friends with the four monsters there (So, Link, BOB, Dr. Cockroach, and the Invisible Man, who is dead by canon time out of old age I think), and may or may not have drawn cartoons for them.

He eventually was discharged from the facility thanks to suffering a crippling injury during one of their abroad missions, which is eventually “healed” when he turns into ink.

Anyway yeah, the canon events happen, and Henry eventually takes over the Studio by taking control of the Ink Machine the same way Joey did, and it comes with some nifty abilities.

Henry can literally manipulate the Studio around him just by thinking. If he wants a pipe to stop leaking? It stops. If he wants to get somewhere quickly? A new hall will appear around the next corner or behind the next door he opens that leads directly to where he wants to go, and is somehow quicker to traverse than normal passageways. If he wants the Ink Machine to spit out a new ink creature in a specific form? It will do that.

He can communicate directly with people through the ink, if he concentrates hard enough, though it can be difficult to get his messages across sometimes because of how many voices there are in the ink. Also, he can hear and talk to the voices in the ink, which… isn’t fun.

Henry can also manipulate the ink of already existing Toons, Searchers, Lost Ones, etc, fixing up injuries, deformities, and even eventually adding new limbs (in the case of the Ink Demon, when he finally stops trying to kill Henry – the demon’s okay with his scary look, but he wants to be able to walk faster outside of Beast form, and wants a tail, damn it!)

Literally every ink creature except the Ink Demon ends up on his side after that. The demon’s too pissed off to really consider any kind of alliance at first because taking control of the Studio directly lets Henry literally run circles around the former apex predator of the Studio, and he doesn’t appreciate being made a fool out of. (He comes around eventually, though, mostly because Henry eventually decides that when he says he’ll help everyone, he’ll help everyone, damn it, and doesn’t take no for an answer.)

By the time that Area 5?’s people turn up, Henry’s basically the unofficial leader of most of the ink monsters, with only a few exceptions, those being the Demon and “Alice” Angel/Susie, who prefer doing their own thing even if they’ve agreed to stop hurting other people now… mostly…

The first squad of Area 5?’ers get the scare of their life when they first enter the Studio, because they get ambushed by the Ink Demon (who’s coming around to the name Bendy, but only when it’s Henry calling him that, and nobody else) and nearly die because this demon is not at all happy that more people are intruding on his Studio. They all get out alive, mostly because Henry manages to get there in time to stop the demon from killing anyone.

General Monger nearly gets the scare of his life too when he comes to negotiate, but for a different reason – because not ONCE has the facility had to deal with an entire mini-civilization of monsters instead of just one or two before! He’s almost relieved when the group agrees to come quietly, provided they’re allowed a lot of room to expand the place at the facility and above-ground areas so people can see the sun and stuff. Makes things much easier, and they loose a lot less men that way too.

So the ink monsters all get moved to Area 5? a few years before canon by basically having the Ink Machine uprooted and then placed in the facility, in one of the spare containment units used for Insectasaurus when his original cell has problems.

Henry is delighted to be able to talk to his old monster buddies again, and once they realize this is the same handler of theirs that used to draw them cartoons, only monsterfied, they’re also delighted for various reasons – though also a little unnerved because occult bullshit is new for them – most monsters are created via Mad Science! after all.

The Toons all adjust to living at the facility and basically make themselves a new Studio/Town that expands outwards via Toon physics. Apart from a few accidents where some of the soldiers get turned into ink creatures themselves, everything goes swimmingly.

Then the events of the movie happen, and while Henry and Co. aren’t too helpful against the giant robot that I cannot remember the name of for the life of me, they’re sure helpful against Galaxhar.

Imagine, if you would, that wannabe alien overlord looking up from a monologue, and suddenly coming eyes-to-grin with the menacing figure of the Ink Demon, and then screaming and running like the little coward he is, because that’s what he do when faced with overwhelming odds against him, haha.

Damn, now I want to draw Bendy and the Ink Machine characters XD

#crossover ideas #bendy and the ink machine #monsters vs aliens #BATIM/Monsters vs Aliens #Henry takes over the studio and accidentally creates an ink civilization #and then the group end up moving into Area Fifty-Something #Henry tries to fix everyone #it works for the most part #the Ink Demon's spent so long being scary that he just grew to like it tho #Henry used to work in Area 5?#you know this crossover works weirdly well #especially since the Monsters are so zany #i mean BOB alone could be a cartoon gag character #and Dr. Cockroach is like an over-the-top mad scientist even if he usually seems to mean well #Henry totally drew the Monsters toon pictures and you can't convince me otherwise #Henry's monster name would totally be the Animator #i mean come on it totally fits

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who-gave-atlas-a-pencil · 4 years

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let us be brave

A/N: Title comes from Sanders Bohlke’s “The Weight of Us”.

Summary: It's been fifteen years since the world went to hell. In the midst of the chaos, five people find a way to make that hell a home.

(Zombie Apocalypse AU. Takes place in the world of The Last of Us, as the author is self-indulgent and obsessed. Expect both hope and hurt in equal measure. Work-in-progress.)

Read on AO3 for notes.

Chapter: 1/?

If you want to be tagged in this story as it updates, please leave a note in the replies!

If he dies tonight, he hopes it will be quick.

Matthew’s lungs ache from running. His ankle is twisted. His hands are covered in blood that doesn’t belong to him. They shake as he bolts the door shut behind him and wonders, not for the first time, if it’s too late to find God again. He wants to pray for a ceiling to crash down on his head, for a false step to break his neck, for anything that will spare him from the carnage he hears outside.

The sounds from the hallway are brutal, hellish clicks and deep, bassy roars. The mask around his face amplifies the already far too loud staccato of his breathing, makes it sound like he’s gasping into a megaphone. All the same, he doubts they hear him outside.

It’s hard to hear anything over the screams.

Matthew checks his gun, pats down his pockets – empty, both of them. He presses his back against the door and slides breathlessly down it, breathing hard in the spore-filled dark. This room has no windows. He’s run himself into a dead end. He wonders if one day someone will find his corpse here, holding onto a cross and an empty gun, and the thought would make him hysterical if he wasn’t already there.

Something heavy hits the ground outside and a familiar scream cuts off all too quick, the noises wet like ripping paper.

Matthew clutches his rosary in hands too slick with gore to hold it, presses his eyes shut, and prays.

---

There’s a gun barrel pressed to the back of his head. He’s twenty two now, has made it five years without succumbing to any of the many grotesque fates he’s watched other people suffer in the wake of the madness. He’s not sure how he’s managed even that much, when all he’s been for five years now is cold and shit-scared that one day he’s going to wake up dead.

The gun cocks and the man behind him spits. “This is for my fuckin' brother,” he snarls.

The knife in Matthew’s hand slides from its sheath quick as a snake. The gun goes off. The blood sprays.

---

He doesn’t wake up dead, and that’s a relief as much as it is a burden. Sleeping would have been a nice solution to all of this. It would have spared him the terror of trying to get out of the mess he’s found himself in, at any rate. Nevertheless, it hasn’t happened, so- well. That’s that.

Outside, the screams have disappeared. All that remains is the faint, familiar horror of clicking echoing off the walls. Something whimpers inhumanly, and Matthew’s guts churn.

He can’t stay here. He knows that. That doesn’t make it any easier for him to push down the terror that works its way up his throat as he eases the door open as slow as he can. Outside, a pale grey light drifts through the hallway, illuminates the spores in the air until they look magical in some sick sort of way.

Mason swallows hard and wishes for a better mask. It makes the air breathable, but it doesn’t do shit for the way everything here reeks of death and rot. A bowie knife shakes in his hands and when his foot lands in something slick, he makes it a point to not look down. He already knows all too well who these bodies used to be. He doesn’t want the specifics.

He makes his way through the hallway, only breathing when he has to. The spores and the shaded grey on the eyes of his mask make it next to impossible to see, and it’s enough to make his skin crawl. The only thing worse than hearing the Infected stumble around the building is hearing them while having no idea where the fuck they are. Matthew’s not a religious man, but he finds himself reaching one hand toward the familiar and battered rosary in his pocket nonetheless. Get me out of here, he thinks, the words somewhere south of reverent. Either get me out or put me down. I don’t care which.

Immediately ahead of him, an experimental and ragged clicking noise fills the air. Matthew freezes, holding his breath. It comes again, closer now as a figure shambles through the haze of spores and shadows directly toward him.

He thinks it might have been a woman once. Clumps of long, ragged brown hair hang from what’s left of the creature’s skull, sticking out in fine tufts through the fungus that has flowered across its face and split its skull in two. The teeth are rotten in a mouth red with blood like smeared lipstick, and its throat jerks painfully with every fresh click, the abused muscles twitching around the growths that blossom from its neck.

There’s a ring on its left hand, the stone long broken out. He’s not sure why he notices that.

The creature jerks its head to the side like it’s heard something, clicking once again. This close he can smell the rot, and he swears, even though it’s blind, he feels eyes on him, ruined and covered in decay and the jaw unhinges inhumanly wide to scream and-

He doesn’t think about it. Matthew slams the bowie knife three inches into the side of the creature’s neck and twists, pulls it out and slams it in again. Blood sheets down his hand and the front of its shirt and he shoves an arm around it to keep it from hitting the ground too loud, holds the body as it twitches in his arms and fails to make a single noise through the now severed vocal cords. Bile rises in his throat at the smell, that god-awful fucking smell that hangs on these things like a shroud, and he holds the thing down until the twitching stops.

Covered in a long-dead woman’s blood, Matthew swallows hard and continues on his way. He doesn’t stop until he’s past them all, until he finally sees the heavy door with a disused exit sign hanging crookedly over it, until he’s through the door and into the cleaner air and the chill of the approaching evening. Then he runs.

It must be a mile or two later before his legs give out like jelly beneath him, his typical stamina sapped by the stress. Matthew stumbles to the ground with heaving lungs, rips off his mask and pukes hard and heavy, bile stinging his throat. His shoulders shake with effort and then he’s sobbing, breathless with relief that he’s made it this far, that he made it at all. He does not think of the eight people he’d entered the apartment complex with, of Derrick back at the base with a scavenged wedding ring and a plan for a proposal to a man who’s now a corpse, of the picture in Hannah’s pocket that they’d taken on a shitty polaroid two weeks before that must be drenched in blood now.

He knows every one of their names, but he doesn’t dare to think them. Matthew rubs his eyes and stands. Grabs the medallion from his neck and a rag from his pack, pours a little water on it. He scrubs at the blood until it comes off in thick clots, shakes it off on the grass and keeps cleaning until the tarnished face of it is visible again. He runs a thumb over the grooves and clenches it tight in his fist like a prayer. He thinks of Hannah and her sixteen-year-old eyes and the sound of her scream.

He should go to Fort Collins, tell them what happened. Everyone will be waiting. They’ll take the news hard, because there’s no other way to take it, but they’ll grieve together. They’ll find somewhere else to go, something else to do, some other tiny revolution to spark until a soldier puts a bullet in all their backs.

There’s a lot of things he should do, he thinks, and a lot of things he doesn’t want to. But it’s a long way from Ohio to Fort Collins. He’s got time to digest.

Matthew stands up, shoulders his bag, and puts the medallion back around his neck, tucks it under his shirt so he can keep it warm and safe and close to his chest. He looks in the direction he’s come from and thinks of the people still lying there and prays that their souls have found a safer rest.

When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.

The sun is setting. Matthew touches his medallion and heads west.

---

In the end, he goes back to Fort Collins just long enough to regret it. Derrick is on watch when he finally arrives after nearly a month on his own, and he asks Matthew where the others are only to crumple like a rag doll when he gets his answer. Two days later, it’s Matthew who finds the body, and he buries Derrick with his wedding ring on. It’s the least he can do.

The others look at him the way most people look at ghosts, wary and just a little bit angry too. Their eyes follow him with accusation, dare him to explain why he’s alive when none of the others are, and he wishes, more than anything, that he had an answer for them. The pendant around his neck hangs heavy as a millstone.

Two months later, another squad goes out to raise hell in Denver. It’s only supposed to be a week but two months pass and they’re still not back, and Matthew stops expecting them. Whatever light the fireflies are supposed to be bringing, it feels like it’s dying out, slow and painful. It’s been a lifetime now since it all went to hell, fifteen years of running. He wonders how much more time he's got before someone strings him up or shoots him in front of a crowd.

Hannah’s got a little sister named Molly. She’s thirteen now but she’s got eyes as old as the mountains west of them, and she never asks about the way it used to be. She used to, before Hannah died. Matthew remembers.

She goes out one day to hunt some game. She comes back with a snared rabbit and a bite wound she doesn’t tell anyone about and the next morning Matthew tries to wake her up and ends up putting her down instead. He takes her medallion and packs up what little he feels an attachment to in his room – a few scattered pictures, a broken bracelet from back before everything, a few comic books from some series Hannah’s mother had loved. Aside from that, he leaves no trace.

He runs into Marion when he leaves. She’s on her way in and he’s on his way out and he thinks she knows, even if he looks about like he always does. Her green eyes are catlike and keen in the dawning light and whatever she’s thinking, they don’t convey it. “Any way I can convince you to stay?” she asks without prelude.

Matthew smiles faintly and shakes his head. “Think it’s time I go look for a light somewhere else.” There’s so many shadows here for him now, so many ghosts. It’s hard to find anything worth fighting for in the wake of a dozen battles lost, and this world is hard enough but he has to live, or try to. He made a promise.

Marion nods, just once. “I hope you find one,” she says, tilting her head back. “Hope you send it our way, when you’re done.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I can ask.” They share a hug, and Marion smiles with the closest thing to sincerity Matthew’s seen out of her in a long time. They keep walking in opposite directions. Neither of them look back.

---

He finds himself in South Dakota. The Black Hills nearly kill him on several different occasions but he makes it somehow, stumbles out on the far side with a badly sprained ankle and fuel enough for a month’s worth of nightmares. In the distance he can see a town, and he hopes to God that they’ll either be friendly or good enough shots to make him stop worrying.

He runs into a patrol on his way in, and the members of it turn out to fit the first criteria much better than the second. One of them is a fidgety man named Johnny, the other a woman in a ratty green sweater with eyes as sharp as knives. They both point a gun at him when they see him, but neither pulls the trigger, and he expects he ought to be thankful for that. They lead him back to Deadwood and they don’t ask any questions once they’ve clarified that he isn’t bitten.

He means to stay only for a day or two. When three weeks have passed, the man in charge of everything asks him if he just wants to set up in the church, because nobody else in the town has any interest in it and he’s clearly not leaving any time soon. Matthew accepts, because even if it’s a bit drafty and probably not all too structurally sound these days, it’s quiet there. It’s also right next to the graveyard, which means nobody goes there unless they’re forced to, but that suits Matthew just fine. He’s not antisocial by any means, appreciates company where he can find it. The dead just seem to be more his speed, these days.

He puts out the handful of things he took with him from Fort Collins in his room above the church in an attempt to make the place feel a bit like home. It feels like a mausoleum instead, and he takes it all down two days later, tucks it back into his backpack to keep with him always somewhere out of sight.

The town grows on him, and he grows into it. He never quite gets on with the man in charge, but he likes Johnny just fine, swings over to the Gem Saloon to share a drink when the time allows it. Some people take to calling him the Reverend on account of his living situation, and the name sticks.

The seasons change from a frozen winter to a spring that’s not much warmer. The leaves come back anyway, pale and green and gorgeous. Sunlight creeps through the pines and everyone stays out of the forest as much as they can. Matthew goes there more than most, hunting for food and the roots he finds that can be used for medicine. He waits for summer with the same cautious anticipation he used to reserve for waking up on April first, when his sisters were still around to jam his door with pennies so he couldn’t leave for classes.

Matthew keeps his expectations low and his bags packed. He holds onto his Momma’s rosary. He watches the sunrise every morning because he never sleeps through a night.

He waits.

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twitchesandstitches · 5 years

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A few details i wasn’t able to get into the library fic that introduced the Avatar characters to Crossthicc! This was worldbuilding stuff I thought was interesting, but didn’t have room to put into the fic properly.

AVATAR STUFF

Suki is one of the daughters of Kyoshi, who rules a system of islands, and has inherited something of her size, power, and commanding attitude. The Kyoshi Islands are intended to be an analogue to Japan in some respects, and in particular Kyoshi’s daughters lead their own respective dynasties in service to Kyoshi, who is ultimately a Raava-blessed empress uniting them all as a daughter of Heaven.

The girls are considerably older than in canon, and the boys are more or less their canon ages but in a way to give them a different dynamic with the girls. Katara is the eldest child in her generation, with Sokka as her younger brother. Her dynamic with Aang is even more ‘skilled student winds up marrying his gifted mentor’, with a bit more emphasis on Katara being a heroine. The biggest shift is for Zuko; as Azula’s younger brother, he was never in the running for being Fire Lord and was a surplus child. Mai was more or less his bodyguard and they wound up falling for another as a bright spot in each other’s lives.

Way more AU as the cultures of Avatar go. Sun Warriors are still extant, groups such as the Foggy Swamp Tribe are all over the place. The Fire Nation is presently in a huge civil war between Azula and forces that follow Zuko, and Azula is actually more active as a leader than Ozai is; as it stands, the Fire Nation is basically like Warring States-era Japan, but with people who can breathe fire and ride dragons.

On that note, the Fire Lords are more or less just the Fire Sages as they originally were in canon; the Fire Lord is the leader of the Fire Sages, who ride dragons here and commune with them, and have enormous power over the Fire Nation’s people with this influence. Azula has taken over as hereditary right and the most powerful of the family, but Zuko has also earned the right and this has caused the civil war in question, with an unprecedented amount of nobles, warlords and influencers split between the two rather than the usual free for all.

The Air Nomads are mainly based off the people of ancient Mongolia, with Genghis Khan’s example being a pretty obvious one. The Air Nomads who live in this area are explicitly intended to be modeled after them. Yangchen herself is an analogue to the Khan, down to building an empire and unifying her people, and having a strict ‘insult my people and die horribly’ vibe. As a whole the Air Nomads are a lot more diverse than what we see in canon; Air Nomads like the monks we see in canon are still around, but they’re a specific set of clans who live in the mountains near the Southern Water Tribe and have established a monastary there. They support their life style by working out deals to control the wind for the benefit of their Water Tribe neighbors.

Bending here is marked by two things: becoming a giant hyper-curvy lady (as is the main rule in this AU when you become powerful), and physical mutations. Not like the mods used by other, but non-functional attributes such as crystalline skin for Earthbenders, icy body temperature for Waterbenders, blazing skin for Firebenders, and so on. It varies for each individual, gets more intense as they power up and the specific kind of mutation changes when they are bending different things, but all benders are obvious and easily spotted.

Size is linked to bending. The more powerful you are, the bigger. The inverse is true; if you’re bigger, you have bending powers. Characters who canonically have no bending ability but are big here (Mai, Suki, Asami and so on) are benders here, but have very low grade powers or extremely specialized skills. Suki is probably an Earthbender who can do minor tricks with soul to be immovable, Mai and Asami are firebenders (Mai does internal tricks with heat, Asami can bend lightning but ONLY lightning), and so on.

I usually avoid specific sizes, but I did measurements for a tricky line, and worked some things out. Katara is roughly about twenty feet tall here, an average man only going up to her knees. Toph may be about 30 or so while the other girls are smaller than Katara on average, ranging from 12 to 15 feet. Korra is the biggest at at least forty feet. She is very big!

Raava does not serially incarnate here, but instead bonds to multiple human hosts as they are born; the Avatar is thus not a singular entity but a soul fusion of many different people to previous ones and the other living ones, linked and boosted by Raava. Thus, Korra and Aang can be around at the same time, and she can be significantly older than him too. The other Avatars relevant to Aang (Kuruk, Kyoshi, Roku and Yangchen) are, of course, all alive and doing things, being important heroes and leaders.

The owl entity that is mentioned briefly near the end of the story is intended to be Wan Shi Tong, and the Great Library is a combination of his library and the idea of the Akashic Records from Mage: The Awakening. He’s not as anti-mortal as he is in canon, or at least, not allowed to act upon it due to the other powers in the Library. He is a spirit of the idea of knowledge and lore, and acts as a neutral figure within the library’s command.

Bending stuff. Here, bending is not hereditary (though it is dependant on cultural identity); rather, people commune with specific spirits after manifesting an elemental power at a young age. Everyon can use an element appropriate to their culture, though perhaps very limited, and some can commune directly with the spirits, earning their favor and gaining their powers, being physically transformed in some respect and gaining enormous amounts of power. These are like Benders from canon, but they explicitly sought it out. Animals like badger-moles and sky bison are linked to these spirits, too. (There are different ways of earning favor; some women might become hyper pregnant with powerful spirits, for example, and at the end of the pregnancy, transform into their new state and gain their powers. The REAL elemental blessing was inside them all along…!)

The Air Nomads are alive and well!

Aang is ethnically related to the northern Air Nomads who are based on the followers of Genghis Khan; Yangchen’s clans, here. However he was raised among the monastary monks near the Southern Water Tribe, where he met Katara when young and studied under her to learn Waterbending. His heritage carries no stigma, and while he has no concern about his actual family (it being an Air Nomad thing to raise children communally), he wants to know more about his birth-people and ancestral culture.

You may have noticed a reference to ‘red tornado spirits’ in regards to Aang’s tattoos. Double meaning here; Aang’s tattoos were originally based, from what I hear, on the DC robot hero Red Tornado’s markings, and thus the spirits who originally taught the first Air Nomads were related to the spirits that give Red Tornado life force. (It was either that or make Red Tornado this settings version of Tenzin. Still might do that, actually.)

Speaking of Tenzin, Aang and Katara’s children are around for sure, but doing their own thing during the events of this story.

NON AVATAR STUFF

Hermione here is based on my take on her in the fics I’ve written here and there. The other group mentioned in relation to her is intended to be her canonical friendship group, including Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville, and possibly others. The Great Library may be Hogwarts, but the castle may exist elsewhere with the wizards and witches here being a specific group that wound up at the Library through a mishap.

Witches like Hermione grow bigger as they get more magically powerful, as generally goes in this AU.

Hermione is intended to be read as black/Afro-British (or a space future analogue) but I’m not sure I’m that great at conveying that in writing.

Hermione’s somewhere between Toph and Katara’s sizes. Smaller than 30 feet, bigger than 20 feet. She’s thicc, hyper busty, and big all over!

Hermione not speaking the language of the Avatar characters is based on a few plot points I’ve had in mind; linguistics in this AU is a serious matter with no ‘translator microbes’ or quick solutions to language barriers. Languages must be learned the hard way. She’s never had any reason to expect to communicate with the people, expecting a life as a solitary scholary with her library chums, so she’s woefully unprepared for this. She will correct this in the future.

Magnus the Red is shamelessly based on the interpretation of him from the youtube web series, If The Emperor HAd A Text To Speech Device. I also included aspects such as the Primarch’s being sensory overload to regula humans, and more mystical overtones than they normally get in 40k. I wrote this with the idea that the Imperium was a pre-cataclysm society in line with the Emperor’s original goals (and had none of the anti-alien issues, due to difference circumstances), and the Emperor has become a god of the idea of humanity as its own thing, with the Primarchs as different reflections of that: Magnus embodies humanity’s magical potential as well as the drive to learn and know.

Magnus doesn’t have an exact size. He is huge, yes, but his bizarre magical nature means that he is much larger than he would seem to be. He’s also a shapeshifter, so make of that what you will.

The figures with him are basically Space Marines: Thousand Sons and Blood Ravens, if it wasn’t obvious enough. Gabriel Angelos, one of the canon Blood Raven leaders from the Dawn of War games, is mentioned briefly.

Obliquely referred to a few times is Optimus Prime; in the main events of the AU his absence has been notable, so this is where he’s been all this time; searching for an answer to what has become of Primus, and unable to return to the Autobots. Grimlock is gonna be PISSED.

The Unseen University’s faculty from Discworld are present here as more comedic elements of the faculty running the library, and may be seen on some other time. They’re not human here, since I’m trying to avoi the idea that humans are super-important in-universe. Ridcully, for example, is most likely a krogan. The magic they employ is a cross between Potterverse spells and classic D&D magic. (I used to headcanon that potterverse magic was particular to humans, but i may be moving away from that.)

I originally intended there to be several characters drawn from religious/monk origins for use as library characters to later join the Endowed Fleet and converse with the characters in this one, but there were too many characters as is. Two of the most important would have been Zenyatta from Overwatch (here a full on magic user and Guru Pathik-analogue) and Scar from Fullmetal Alchemist (donated his brother’s teachings to the library, stayed there to study as a religious duty)

There was originally an in-universe lesson about how their world fits into the cosmology, but i couldn’t find a natural place to slot it in. In brief, they’re technically one of the mortal universes, but exist in a demi-realm deep within the realms of magic and swimming in spirits, so they’re not really connected to the mortal universes and unless you know what you’re doing, there’s no real way to get there. This universe is mainly empty but rich with magic, so it’s possible for people who find their way there to establish new worlds there.

#/#//#///#////#/////#queued #twitchy ideas #crossthicc AU #admittedly some of this is not so much 'stuff i couldn't put in'#but stuff i dont want you NOT to know #i demand u know all my worldbuildign nonsense #atla

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crimsonfluidessence · 5 years

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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! good luck !

TAGGED. Found off @bloodsworn-marshal and I was like CHALLENGE ACCEPTED TAGGING. I will not be that cruel

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Esredes Rosemond

NICKNAME: Esrey

AGE: 33

BIRTHDAY: the fuck are birthdays

ETHNIC GROUP: Ishgardian Elezen

NATIONALITY: Ishgardian

LANGUAGE(S): Common Eorzean, Dragonspeak, does ishgard have its own language idefk

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteroromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single as fuck

CLASS: Gladiator

HOMETOWN / AREA: Ishgard

CURRENT HOME: The Coerthan Wilderness

PROFESSION: Heretic Commander/Ishgard’s Most Wanted

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Swept back and crimson. Noteworthy for the way it splits into tips at the ends.

EYES: Orange

NOSE: ....a fucking nose what do you expect me to say

FACE: Nasty looking

LIPS: Never anything but a black line in my art style so who fuckin knows

COMPLEXION: Light brown.

BLEMISHES: idk

SCARS: A lot in various places on the body.

TATTOOS: None

HEIGHT: 6′0

WEIGHT: idk how to do weights

BUILD: Sturdy

FEATURES: uh... he exists

ALLERGIES: None

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: As presented. He rarely combs down the tips.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Vaguely pissed off or emotionless.

USUAL CLOTHING: Either the Haubergeon outfit or his red tabard outfit.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Drowning, Being Captured, Failure, Strangulation, Dying in an embarrassing manner

ASPIRATION(S): Taking over and fixing Ishgard.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Loyal, Brave, Confident, Ambitious, Unyielding

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Manipulative, Brutal, Reserved, Hate-filled

ZODIAC: Fuck the zodiac.

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric

SOUL TYPE(S): what

ANIMALS: Rabbits

VICE HABIT(S): Over-exerting himself

FAITH: None.

GHOSTS?: Yes

AFTERLIFE?: Yes

REINCARNATION?: Maybe?

ALIENS?: Dragons already exist

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: He’s like a conservative evil liberal its weird

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: what?

SOCIO POLITICAL POSITION: Anti Ishgard, pro heresy.

EDUCATION LEVEL: High School

FAMILY.

FATHER: Unnamed but he exists

MOTHER: ^

SIBLINGS: Seraphiaux Rosemond What siblings? I guess there’s Ysayle, it’s not like he has any biological ones who still love him...

EXTENDED FAMILY: Who knows?

NAME MEANING(S): Esredes doesn’t meant anything. I made it up. Ezredes means colonel in hungarian though, and that’s a neat coincidence.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Not related to Durendaires.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Probably that one epic heroic tale that’s actually realistic out there somewhere

MOVIE: If they existed, he likes action movies.

5 SONGS: Idk, but he sometimes likes humming them to himself.

DEITY: Fuck you.

HOLIDAY: eh... I guess All Saints Wake is pretty decent

MONTH: September

SEASON: Autumn

PLACE: Idyllshire

WEATHER: A slightly cloudy day with a nice, mild breeze.

SOUND: The soft ambience of a forest.

SCENT(S): uh

TASTE(S): Meats

FEEL(S): The hair of someone he cares about when he’s trying to comfort them.

ANIMAL(S): Rabbits

NUMBER: uh

COLORS: Red and Gold

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Swordfighting, Strategic Thinking, Manipulation, Flying

BAD AT: People, emotions, cooking, anything involving engineering

TURN ONS: Assertiveness, Confidence

TURN OFFS: Stupidity, Miqo’te

HOBBIES: Flying and hunting

TROPES: Dark Skinned Redhead, Frontline General, Ambiguously Brown, Magnificent Bastard

AESTHETIC TAGS: I can’t aesthetic but like, besides dragon and blood and swords, his aesthetic boils down to regal and elegant but tough

GPOY QUOTES: ?

FC INFO.

MAIN FC(S): Nope

ALT FC(S): Nope

OLDER FC(S): Nope

YOUNGER FC(S): Nope

VOICE CLAIM(S): The voice he has in my head

GENDERBENT FC(S): Nope

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: IF YOU COULD WRITE YOUR CHARACTER YOUR WAY IN THEIR OWN MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE CALLED, WHAT STYLE WOULD IT BE FILMED IN, AND WHAT WOULD IT BE ABOUT?:

Villain protagonist film where Esredes has to stop the Even Worse villain while still being unapologetically evil himself, teaming up with morally gray problematic good guys that don’t give a shit about his evil. General rule of thumb, if you want him to be the protagonist, make the villain the equivalent of Dolores Umbridge atrocious.

It has to be filmed in a way where the visual parallels clearly indicate nobody is in the right, that he is little less atrocious than the other villain. Give it enough of subtle intelligent cinema film style, not enough so that it’s confusing and prone to missing everything. Let the film have an element of pretty cinematography that can be contrasted with the more brutal scenes.

Call it “The Exception, The Guardian, and The Monster.”

Q2: WHAT WOULD THEIR SOUNDTRACK / SCORE SOUND LIKE?:

Esredes’ song aesthetic is somewhat orchestral, but intense in nature. It has to reflect the battle heavy lifestyle of his, all while making time for the more elegant and sophisticated parts.

Q3: WHY DID YOU START WRITING THIS CHARACTER?:

I wanted to make dragon characters for my friend’s roleplay group because generally no one gave a shit about all the human characters I came in with. His idea had the most inspirational energy and I went with a character representing everything I hate.

Q4: WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

I first began to actually like him because of his dialogue. So much fun to write, like holy shit.

Q5: DESCRIBE THE BIGGEST THING YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOUR MUSE:

I mean, I find a lot of his personality atrocious in general. I don’t like his abusive tendencies, even though I love writing them because of how it defies the idea of him being the local sad man you can just befriend with sunshine. Really, I don’t like that he has to default to murder as a solution and call it for the greater good. He could be genuinely heroic if he tried to find another solution. And that is why he should never stop doing that.

Q6: WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN COMMON WITH YOUR MUSE?:

Desire for quick and snappy change. Generally being the one who can think when no one else can. Thinking nobody likes us while blatantly ignoring all the people directly around us. And both of us have a desire to use our powerful presence, but only one of us can actually pull it off.

Q7: HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL ABOUT YOU?:

He’d probably just call me out on all my weaknesses. Try me, Esrey. So has everyone else before you. You know what it feels like too, don’t you?

Q8: WHAT CHARACTERS DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE INTERESTING INTERACTIONS WITH?

All the kids are fun because each flavor of Esredes trying to work with a disaster is beautiful. I love the absolute purity of Clover, the therapy of Dione, the chill of Rev, snark of Bellona, constant anger of Alastor, etc. The parents are also adorable for their emotional support to the character. Agatha and Esrey are fun because of how awkward but friendly they’re trying to be. Oh, and B’ahm is hilarious because the man is just trying to exist and be friendly and is STILL getting all over Esrey’s nerves.

Q9: WHAT GIVES YOU INSPIRATION TO WRITE YOUR MUSE?:

It’s not hard to get inspired to write him in general, since I have a puppetmaster approach and not a muse approach to writing characters. I usually just have to put on epic sounding music and absorb myself into the mental imagery of him it produces.

Q10: HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE YOU TO COMPLETE?:

Like forty five minutes. Git gud.

#character memes #character exercises #bellona #b'ahm #clover #dione #reveilleux #alastor #agatha #commentary #Seraphiaux #ysayle #iceheart #wings like shattered stained glass hearts

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thezodiaczone · 6 years

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July Forecast for Aquarius

Mind: blown? July is one of those turning-point months for you, Aquarius: a time when things come together with a huge flourish—or go in a radically new direction. An energy that’s been percolating since February 2017 reaches its apex at the end of the month as a total lunar eclipse blasts into YOUR sign on July 27. Eclipses arrive four to six times a year, pushing us out of limbo and instigating bold changes. With two of summer’s three eclipses arriving this July, you’ll want to sit up straight, stay woke and be ready to greet whatever comes your way.

We almost want to write your horoscope backward this month, but in truth, there’s plenty of cosmic action all the way through July. And with fiery Mars, the planet of energy and drive, retrograde in Aquarius until August 12, you could be a bit of a dormant volcano until the lunar eclipse. Check yourself: Are you being overly intense and stressing out everyone around you? Mars has been in Aquarius since May 16, which gave you confidence and charisma by the boatload. But when the red planet reversed gears on June 26, all that fierce life-force energy got bottled up. Perhaps you’ve had to curb your enthusiasm or suppress other feelings, and the frustration of stuffing them down is palpable. Find an outlet (we recommend moving your body!) so that intensity has somewhere to go. Otherwise, you’re liable to just pick fights or rage internally—neither of which is a healthy option!

Four other planets will be retrograde throughout the month: Expansive Jupiter is backward in Scorpio and your career house until July 10; communicator Mercury goes retrograde July 26 in Leo and your partnership zone; and all month long there are slowdowns from structured Saturn and transformational Pluto in your healing twelfth house and foggy Neptune in your money and work sector. Translation: There’s some unfinished business related to your career or relationships, which is all the more reason to tie up loose ends in time for the July 27 lunar eclipse—your cosmic-coming out party!

A proposed solution, should the retrogrades keep you in a holding pattern: Clean up the clutter in your life. The Sun is in Cancer and your sixth house of health, fitness and organization until July 22. Ramp up the self-care by loading up on the bounty of summer produce and getting regular exercise. Go full-frontal Marie Kondo on your home and office, getting rid of stuff that “doesn’t spark joy.” Call in some helping hands to finish up those tasks and projects that have been hanging over your head, like building bookshelves, steam-cleaning the couches, painting. Don’t wait—delegate!

By mid-month, you’ll be one busy Water Bearer, because on July 10, abundant Jupiter ends a four-month retrograde in Scorpio and your tenth house of career and ambition. Take your summer vacation days before this if you can! Lucky Jupiter only visits Scorpio every 12 years, bringing massive growth to your professional life and loftiest goals. Jupiter is here from October 10, 2017, until November 8, 2018. Many Aquarians have already experienced a surge of ambition or new career opportunities. Jupiter’s evolution isn’t always comfortable—this planet pushes you OUT of your comfort zone, in fact—and since March, you may have scrambled to adapt to changes. Perhaps you left (or pondered leaving) a long-running role or parted ways with a steady client. With Jupiter powering forward now, it’s all systems go until November 8. Make those bold moves, leaps of faith, and big asks! A leadership role or a position with prestige and great responsibility awaits. While it might come with longer or more structured hours, travel or other demands, this cycle won’t occur again for more than a decade, so grab that brass ring while it’s there. The tenth house rules men and fathers—and an important guy in your life could play a pivotal role in the coming weeks.

Two days after Jupiter goes direct, the heavens serve up a partial solar (new moon) eclipse in Cancer and your orderly, wellness-minded sixth house. Solar eclipses mark bold beginnings and can set us on a whole new (and unexpected) path. This one is the inaugural eclipse in a series that will fall on the Cancer/Capricorn axis between now and July 2020, initiating a wave of changes around health and healing, spirituality and creativity, and work and service. Over the next two years, you’ll play with the balance between control and surrender, left and right brain, logic and magic. You could dramatically shift your lifestyle to adopt sustainable health-conscious habits.

This is the only eclipse from this group in 2018, and it’s just a preview of changes that will really take flight in 2019. Still, it will be an intense start! On July 12, the Sun and new moon are exactly opposite power-tripping Pluto in Capricorn and your twelfth house of illusions, closure and forgiveness. Pluto rules the unconscious, and in this hazy zone, an intense personality could show up, perhaps acting as a mirror or a messenger. Rather than rage at them, look at how they might be revealing some part of YOU that needs to shift. It’s also possible that you’ll have to stand up to a bully for once and for all. Stay alert for people who gaslight you or make you second-guess yourself. This eclipse could be the first indication of who no longer deserves a place on Team Aquarius.

Save your energy for folks who truly know what mutual give-and-take is all about. On July 22, the Sun starts a four-week visit to Leo and your partnership zone, putting the spotlight on your closest relationships. You might decide to make things official in a romantic or business relationship.

But take your time before locking in any binding commitments. From July 26 until August 19, communication planet Mercury will be retrograde in Leo and this dynamic-duo zone, scrambling signals with your closest crew. You could have second thoughts about moving ahead, so if you catch a case of cold feet, step back and see if it’s your own fear or a legit red flag. Because couples could misunderstand each other and have heated arguments during Mercury retrograde, make a conscious effort to practice patience. Instead of jumping down someone’s throat, make sure you’ve heard them correctly!

July’s crown jewel—or big shakeup—arrives the next day, when the July 27 Aquarius total lunar eclipse sweeps through your first house of self and solo endeavors. This is the final Aquarius eclipse in a series that’s been touching down on the Leo/Aquarius axis since February 2017, bringing radical transformation to your personal identity and your closest relationships. Look back to the prior two Aquarius eclipses on August 7, 2017, and February 15, 2018, for clues of what might fully come together now.

There will be one last Leo eclipse on January 21, 2019, and then this cycle will be complete. Over the next six months, start speaking up more instead of stuffing things down. You can’t expect people to read your mind, which is why you need to express and assert yourself. And with fiery Mars traveling close to the full moon eclipse, there might be a lot more brewing than you imagined. Let it out, Aquarius—then let it go. You’re ready for a major new chapter, and you don’t need any old baggage weighing you down. Keep your sights set on what’s ahead, and leave the past behind.

Love & Romance

Feeling hot, hot, hot…or not, not, not? With passionate Mars powered down in retrograde in your sign all month, your mojo could be muted. Like summer fireworks that don’t fully go off, there could be a few duds in the lineup, so don’t get impatient or angsty about it. This month, put the focus back on yourself instead of getting all worked up about someone else’s nonsense.

When Mars is powering forward in direct motion, the red planet blesses you with an extra blast of confidence and charisma, but when it’s in low-power mode, you might be feeling tired, off your game, or just “blah.” Luckily, you’ll get a do-over from September 10 to November 15, when Mars will return to Aquarius for a second retrograde-free trip—and your sex appeal will be off the charts once more. Not that your sexy lights are completely shut off, Aquarius; just on dimmers. Retrogrades can bring back the past, so don’t be surprised if exes reappear, especially those “bad boy/girl” types that are oh-so tempting for you—if not necessarily your smartest menu selection. You might be more argumentative, or, if you’ve been biting your tongue, unable to suppress that anger, which could lead you to lash out…and then wind up regretting your rashness.

Lean in to the action on the other side of your chart to keep the peace and work through any fights. Diplomatic Venus is traipsing through Leo and your partnership zone until July 9. This can help you resolve sticky issues and find a way to get BOTH of your needs met. (It can also shine a light on a worthy prospect if you’re single.) It’s worth the effort now, before communicator Mercury goes retrograde in Leo and your partnership house from July 26 to August 19 and heaps on more confusion and tension. Things could really come to a head on July 27 at the Aquarius total lunar eclipse, when you’re not likely to hold ANYTHING back!

When Venus enters Virgo and your super-intense eighth house on July 9, you could radar in on one special person or deepen your bonds all around. In spite of Mars acting up, this is a wonderful time for intimacy and sensuality—even to share some top-secret fantasies!

Throughout the month, Venus will form flowing trines to innovative Uranus (July 11), structured Saturn (July 14) and transformational Pluto (July 27), all in the most sensitive and emotional houses of your chart. These three golden angles strengthen your mind-body-soul connection with a partner and support being vulnerable enough to talk about your needs. The takeaways: You don’t always have to be tough and together, Water Bearer. All that’s required is being human.

Key Dates

July 14: Venus-Saturn Trine Has a relationship been running on autopilot so long that you haven’t checked in with yourself lately to make sure you feel emotionally safe? Today’s supportive alignment of loving Venus and structured Saturn can give you clarity about your needs and desires. Broaching this subject may feel awkward, but it can help you reach a new level of commitment, like moving in together, getting engaged or talking babies.

Money & Career

This is a giant month for your career, Aquarius! The Sun is making its fastidious trek through Cancer and your orderly sixth house until July 22, backed by a game-changing solar eclipse on July 12. This is a perfect time to hire helpful underlings, delegate and outsource, and get all your systems in smooth working order.

But the second week of the month really delivers! When expansive Jupiter powers forward (direct) in Scorpio and your career sector on July 10, big changes could be afoot on your professional path. Between now and November 8, you might leave one role, take on a whole new set of responsibilities or part ways with a client. Don’t cling to the familiar, Aquarius. Adventurous Jupiter can bring in people and projects that totally exceed your expectations. A long-distance job offer could arrive, or you might surprise yourself by considering a relocation. Work that involves management, an executive role or public appearances could take off. In transition? Consider working with a mentor or tapping a seasoned colleague to take you under their wing.

Although Jupiter pushes you to leap without looking, other cosmic forces might step on the brakes. While go-getter Mars is powered down in retrograde from June 26 until August 27, rushing can yield second-rate results. On top of that, Mars is retrograde in Aquarius until August 12, which could throw off your timing or ramp up the tension on a passion project. You might come across as overly pushy if you’re not careful—or you could second-guess your ideas and lose confidence (and steam). Making matters worse, communication planet Mercury is retrograde in Leo from July 26 to August 19 in your partnership and contracts house, which could muddle deals and negotiations. Argh!

If a successful resolution doesn’t feel imminent, use July and August to revise and tweak before presenting your plans or making a life-changing decision. A good target time frame is between September 10 and November 15, when Mars will make a second (retrograde-free) trip to Aquarius, blessing you with a bonus round of magnetism and appeal. Who knows? With some extra prep time, you can unleash something bigger and better. And you’ll feel confident enough to go forward with a big change without having a complete freak-out after committing.

The one exception to this might come at the July 27 Aquarius total lunar eclipse, a day that could put your name in lights. If you do have something to pitch, promote or perform this month, you’ll have some extra oomph, as this “momager” of an eclipse pushes you onto center stage, ready or not! You’ve been building up to this moment for almost two years, Aquarius. If you’ve dreamed of flying solo or putting your unique stamp on something, now’s your chance. Don’t hold back!

Key Dates

July 9: Mercury-Jupiter Square You can’t always be in sync with everyone. Under today’s starry face-off, you might butt heads with a colleague, or a client may have a totally different idea about the specifics of a project. If you can’t come to a meeting of the minds, take a step back and rethink your position.

Love Days: 10, 14 Money Days: 19, 30 Luck Days: 18, 27 Off Days: 12, 16, 25

#aquarius #monthly forecast #horoscope #horoscopes #astrology #aquarius monthly

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concept22 · 5 years

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Today I got a bipolar diagnosis

edit: btw, nobody was injured when i crashed. it was into a light post and nobody was around.

There is confetti everywhere around my room. And I am confused why there is such a mess and why it’s so pretty to me and also why despite seeing beauty in the mess I feel uncomfortable with my space having little shit all over it and I want it to be clean. Today shit hit the fan and the shit was a balloon and when it hit the fan it erupted and confetti flew everywhere. I got a bipolar diagnosis today. After nearly 10 years of clinical diagnoses from major depression, generalized anxiety, ocd tendency, mania, psychosis, to a literal thought disorder called delusional disorder, as well as PTSD, today I heard something that felt like it contains all of me and there is room for me to be me and not feel so confused and like my identity is all over the place depending which disorder is showing it’s face most. I am Cassidy Jean Gardner, and I am bipolar with PTSD. I feel terrified and so confused and Im crying while I write this but the tears feel like a relief a sweet rush of acceptance from and for myself that I have been yearning for for a long, long time. My therapist believes I have mixed manic-depressive bipolar called cyclothymic bipolar, not to be confused with a less “emotionally intense” cyclothymia diagnosis. With my understanding so far, I understand that Bipolar 1 is characterized by more manic tendencies with depressive stints. Bipolar 2 is characterized by more depressive tendencies with hypomanic bursts. The difference between these types of bipolar and the one have been experiencing the spectrum of for the last 2 and a half years years for sure is that BP 1&2 symptoms of mania or depression last several days, weeks, or months. Cyclothymic bipolar experiences of mania and depression can last hours. I have been so confused by my own mind for so long, and like my emotional responses to things were never valid, true, natural, and in my manic times, not even human. I can go from being manic to then coming across something that doesn’t fit my manic ideology and having an extremely depressed, hopeless response, to, sometimes it feels like minutes later, come up with a new “solution” that helps me feel better and relieved of the shame i feel about my manic beliefs and world view that I go right back up there again, and the cycle repeats. Thinking myself in and out of mania it can feel like. The days when I am not crippled or at best, so far, consistently hindered, by the accompanying anxiety of not having much of a sense of emotional normalcy or “neutral” perspective on things are my best days. The days when I am hypomanic, and I decide to scrap everything I’ve been working toward and stop identifying with these things in the name of authenticity libration and creativity, are my favorite right now, and that is hard. because it’s not super helpful to be this way- so passionate and “righteous”- that i throw out the window regard for any sort of routine i have worked hard to establish myself in the name of having “figured out something better”. It’a hard to feel so happy I can’t listen to my rational self because I feel so intoxicated by the feeling of happiness motivation and productivity I so crave. I am not sure what is harder. Being so manic that I become psychotic, completely delusional to the point that I literally believe I am Satan or Lucifer herself and that everything around me is confirming this horrible burden yet somehow “karmic blessing” that I never asked for, the the times when my depression is so bad I sleep for 16 hours of the day, have no motivation to even fathom life becoming better ever, and prefer to dream than live waking, walking life. I have lived in ambivalence for years, and as a coping mechanism I convinced myself I thrived in this arena. I see myself in front of the pendulum that is my mind. Every day it swings and I try to control it. It doesn’t stop swinging. It swings so roughly and rapidly that it flys out of the bars holding it up often. It’s like there is a wind pushing it that is the devil itself tricking me by being “invisible” aka not existing. When it’s on the manic side, I try to grab it and in the process get picked up off the ground and everything around the pendulum gets knocked over in my efforts to hold the pendulum and keep it on the “happy” side. Like the things around me are my life that I’ve built and they will fall as easily as bowling pins. There is no weight to keep them stable when I hit them. The foundation is slippery. On the depressive side, I rush over angry that I wasn’t strong enough to hold things on the manic side and desperately try to push it back toward my “happy” side, but it is so so fucking heavy. and I don’t remember it being that heavy and I cannot believe I ever fathomed loving the pendulum I was clinging to sometimes minutes earlier. Shame guilt self loathing. compared to my visions of grandiosity, of the world revolving around me, of having a sense of self worth and confidence and the courage to claim it and say hey i deserve to feel good about myself. to god how dare I ever think that. I am the most selfish person on the planet the sheer vain and foolishness to believe everything even anything really could possible be about or for me. I like to believe that I am somewhere in the middle. I prefer the hypomanic side, and this is a detriment as well, because i can easily get too high. but the hypomanic can be so... fun. The bits of excessive energy, the slightly inflated sense of self worth, the belief that I can follow my dreams and the ability to use my mind to direct my thoughts toward ways to create strategy to get where I want and build stepping stones. The fear of fallibility. the anxiety that comes with ever feeling good about myself from the ptsd of that abusive relationship and that night especially. I shouldn’t plan, because they will be foiled, if not by me by a man most likely. nowhere is safe, especially not my own mind. thats’s where I perceived love, and oh hasn’t god shown me how powerful that is. being so manic that I confuse the feeling with someone being my soulmate, twin flame, my destiny. telling that person and responding to the rejection emotionally by going psychotic and fully delusional. How afraid I have been to love, of my own love, being truly loved that i don’t feel the need to constantly prove myself, and certainly the idea of ever loving myself for being who I am. In 2016 when I got PTSD and no longer was the “high functioning” “mentally ill” girl I was before, many people treated me like I had fallen from grace and it was my fault. Thank fucking god for the people who have been here for me. So many people took this as an opportunity it felt to slander me. “ha, I knew she wasn’t so wonderful, look how crazy she is. She intentionally crashed her car. who does that?” a person who is so confused with their undiagnosed bipolar and the fact they are going through a manic episode as a response to intense trauma therapy does that. I was told my whole life I was wonderful for being pretty and intelligent, and what a special combination. what a bitch of a “gift”. The two things I was naturally both with and did not earn, my intelligence and my body and my face. What about my humor? What about my ability to be a good friend? What about how hard I work? I was told I should never dare praise myself for these things because I was already “lucky enough” to be praised for the things I never asked for but was given by either genetics or fate- god knows. I have so many feelings. and I’m so grateful to know that I am impulsive. Sure, I’m “spiritually gifted”, but not necessarily everything has to be a blaring call from god or synchronicity that I must act on immediately if I want to see the “right things”, see the world the “right way”, and “be where I am to be”. My perfectionism has nearly killed me. Seeking to be spiritually perfect because I sure has hell was not physically or mentally perfect, I mean, look at those guys and girls more “beautiful”, look at those men and women more “accomplished”. And the brainwashed peers (not their fault) for idolizing me, giving me a sense of power I never fucking sought. Sure. Maybe you can make the argument that my “soul wanted this”, but suffering was never in the deal. and I have suffered. I have been so miserable I didn’t even know how to fathom the energy to put together a plan to kill myself. and thank god for that level of depression, because I didn’t die. because I’m supposed to be here and finally I feel I can make some peace with my singular identity as Me, Cassie. someone who is fun, funny, smart, relatable, bipolar, and so much more. I feel terrified of stigmatization even though I know it’s fucked up that it even exists. At least, I think, with the delusional disorder diagnosis, even though it was similar to a schizophrenic diagnosis just lacking frequency of symptoms, hardly anybody knew what it was. Oh I have a thought disorder and the propensity to think in delusional ways sometimes. NBD tho as u can see I’m perfectly fine :). So many more people know about bipolar. And many have strong opinions. The plus here is that there is more push to end stigmatization and more research into ways to cope manage and accept this diagnosis which I am so thankful for, and more easily accessible community. There was nothing on delusional disorder. It was so uncommon that when my psychiatrist in the rehab told my therapist what my diagnosis was she handed me the DSM to read about it because she didn’t know what it was. Yeah, I went to rehab. Last november (2017) I had a psychotic break, though it was not my first experience with delusion. I became manic as a response to feeling rejected by a guy and it escalated to me hardly sleeping, doing a lot of cocaine and other drugs, and having a full blown psychotic break. I experienced psychosis for 2 and a half months. The first 3 weeks of this stint it was all i could feel or think about. At first it was fun, until it wasn’t. I legitimately thought that there was a secret society the illuminati that had been made to “illuminate” me, that all art had been inspired by me, the energetic muse, lucifer “finally reincarnating” back to earth in the age of aquarius and dawn of immortality, and nobody around me was safe because I was all that was valued by this illuminati and the people who I loved most were in danger because while I loved them most and the illuminati knew this, the illuminati was angry that these people has hurt me, someone who was so impressionable, “born schizophrenic and able to hide it in order to learn about ‘normal society’”, and were responsible for the pain I felt which I handled with negative coping mechanisms like addiction. So it was my job to create worldly and spiritual circumstances to keep them safe from disaster and accident or murder because they all felt so bad about hurting me subconsciously that they had less of a will to live, and this was a dangerous way to think, subconsciously of course. That I was everyone’s higher self in the 4d’s favorite 3d person other than their person, and that they all were working to send me messages from the consciously unaware around me. I was fully out too my mind. I legitimately thought I was lucifer, the most hated person on the planet but god’s favorite angel, ready to ask for entry back into heaven. And the only thing that was me was my fear response to my thoughts and the way I read into everything. no I can’t dare think this this can’t dare be true but somehow everything around me is telling me it is. Literally fuck this. I felt that I needed to be with loved ones constantly to “keep them safe” and I understandably was simultaneously scaring the shit out of my family due to my mental health, and exhausting them. my mom and I both agreed the best thing was for me to go into a treatment center, the rose house. A “dual-diagnosis” rehab that treated mental health and addiction. Cool, well when I got there apparently every single reason I had mental health problems was because I had used substances, not because I had struggled with my mental health since becoming conscious in light of my father passing when i was almost 9 and eventually found drugs as a coping mechanism. I felt shamed for my addiction to marijuana and 100% misunderstood and ostracized. out of the 15 women there all of the girls my age were in primarily for addiction and the only woman who was there for first mental health was an older woman named Kathleen, and she wasn’t an addict. The delusions never stopped I got better at hiding them. I was heavily medicated, afraid, fearing homelessness if i didn’t follow my family wishes to finish the 90 day program, and still pretty insane. After I got my diagnosis I left the treatment the night I got onto “transition” 67 days in and got my phone back, called a friend, and got brought up to fort collins where thank god emma was willing to let me stay with her. Miraculously, the delusions stopped within days. I was no longer so stressed and afraid that I couldn’t think for myself. I was bipolar this entire time. and my mania was “so irrational and unrecognizable” that they didn’t even know to recognize that this was my issue, it was more like I was “almost schizophrenic” without the visual hallucinations or auditory hallucinations. I wasn’t hearing other voices, but the voice in my head wanted me dead just as much as it told me I had a special reason to stay alive. I had a “sane reaction to insane circumstances”, and I temporally lost my mind. and I was petrified and anxiety ridden to the point I couldn’t function for months. I couldn’t make a single decision for weeks without going into full blown panic. I felt like everyone knew something that I didn’t and that they couldn’t tell me what I thought I knew, just give me hints, because otherwise they could be punished and also because they “believed in me”. I felt horribly betrayed while simultaneously fearing abandonment and isolation so much I felt I had developed Stockholm syndrome.

When I experienced full blown psychosis that was so scary, my whole life went to shit. I lost my scholarships. I lost my house in boulder so my family could afford rehab. everything changed while I was in panic and when I “returned” to a “normal” state of mind I couldn’t recognize anything in my own life, even myself. When I was on medication I gained 70 pounds in 2 and a half months. I went into rehab 95 pounds. I was so manic for months, either full blown or hypo, that I would forget to eat. And I was 165 when I left. I hated my life and the months following I was more depressed than I can ever remembered. I relapsed in april. april to september was a mix of drugs and romance that I don’t really care for. When I got sober again, prompted by a really scary night of returning to psychotic thinking which I thankfully learned reality checking skills for, I feel like after 4 almost 5 years of using drugs I was finally ready to stop feeling so out of control, at least with my substance use. Thank god for today, no matter how afraid i am of my future. I am just as hopeful. I have for hate myself for the ways I have treated people in my manic episodes, my family in my depressive episodes, and how I can hardly even remember it. but I do not deserve to feel this hate. I was suffering. I was living in a world I hadn’t found the words to describe. and now I know. That I am beautiful. truly. inside and out. and I have a beautiful mind. I love fiercely. I believe I can make a contribution to help “save the world”. That those who are mentally ill should be hugged tightly when they need it, that schizophrenic people especially, imo, are horribly and unfairly understood and deserve to feel cherished and accepted just as much as anyone else, not to be feared and casted out of society. I believe every single person no matter what deserves to know they are not alone, no matter how lonely they feel, and so much more good. I am not the ugly or the bad. I am a motherfucking survivor. And thank god I didn’t die the day I re-enacted my dad’s car accident. Because I do have a purpose, and it is special. Most importantly, it’s just as special as everyone else’s special purpose. We are all in this together. And I’m excited to find a community of people who have fought similar battles. Who I can laugh about my “a trillion under the sun” delusions with and find humor in the ways my mind sought to preserve a will to live. and how other people have done the same. I am me, and today I became free of my own condemnation. I will struggle, but now I know there is community and resources that I don’t need to scour the earth to find. I have a home, and it is here, proud to be me. There is confetti everywhere around my room. Who knew that balloon I had been so afraid of letting go of was my own attempt to celebrate myself. I may feel late to my own party, but I’m here now. And there is no problem with not wanting my room to always look like a wild rave. I can always make more confetti, anyways :)

To end with some gratitude, thank god for my true friends and my family. Emma has never left my side as my best friend, even in the distance of living in different parts of the state. She is my best fucking friend. My other close best friends as well, who have not been afraid to hug me when I swore to them my entire body was covered in needles. My mom, who has done everything for me to make sure I know I am never truly alone, no matter how much my mind tries to tell me otherwise. For my little brother, for putting up with my craziness and still being willing to love me and laugh with me at the end of the day. Everyone in my life now is so beautiful it’s hard to deny that there may be some beauty in me, too, then, if they all tell me they like when I’m around. I’m grateful to know that my father, who i have idolized though gone now, was whole loved by the people around me. Whose described as “large than life” personality and substance abuse may have been a way to mask bipolar symptoms, was still a loved personality and loved person. This I know. This people have convinced me. and that I am of him just as much as I am of my mother. I’m grateful for the mental health professionals who have not given up on me, even when they required i be medicated in order to be able to be worked with, even when i was misdiagnosed, these people have helped to save my life too. so many times. And I am so grateful for my higher power, for prayer, the only thing that felt safe to think that sometimes I would just repeat the serenity prayer for hours for the sake of at least having a way to direct my anxious energy and not be in panic from my own delusional thoughts. God, who has always shown me that i will never be truly abandoned or given up on, who has helped me understand my higher power as something that is absolutely not punitive. My family and friends have been my lifeboats, and god, the universe, gaia, the god in every person, has shown me how to survive the storm. I am. I desire. I see. and i am free.

This has been such a clusterfuck of emotions coming out that I have been wanting to feel for a long time and as messy as this is i’m grateful as well for the will to sit through this and write about these experiences, no matter the feelings they bring up. Because know I feel free to understand that the feelings will pass, sometimes more quickly than others, and that I can always survive. Even when that’s all I “manage” to do. Today. I stayed sober. I laughed. I put up the christmas tree with my mom and brother. I talked on the phone with my best friend. I told close friends what I learned about myself today. and I got diagnosed with bipolar. and I found a hope and interpretation for my mental narrative that I never felt was right for me because i don’t understand the words for what i was experiencing. I have learned today. And I have grown. and I am smiling as i finish typing this with tears rolling down my face, because I believe I can be happy. Sustainably happy. and sustainably grateful and hopeful when it’s hard to get to feeling the happiness. I believe and I survive. and I become<3 I am 21. I am brilliant. and I am bipolar.

#bipolar #personal #off my chest #very personal #text

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